


Of Fear and Moonshadows

by Lynzee005



Series: Moonlight Universe [2]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Related, F/M, Moonlight Universe, Twin Peaks Ensemble - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 32,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynzee005/pseuds/Lynzee005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Diane, if I can be honest with you for a moment, I'm filled with the kind of gut-wrenching fear that festers in the bottom of your soul until it consumes you utterly..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going Away

**Author's Note:**

> Now with 100% more embedded Spotify playlists for your listening pleasure! (Each chapter has a corresponding song)

[ ](https://ibb.co/nDO4yQ)

* * *

 

 **Tuesday, March 14**  
  
"I was up fishing at Pearl Lakes yesterday," Cooper said with a contented sigh as he finished off the last bite of egg salad sandwich in his hand. He smiled and chewed, considering his next words before uttering them. "I know I've said it before but it bears repeating: you have some of the finest countryside in the world right here in your backyard."

Sheriff Truman nodded sagely. "It's nice to hear the thing we townspeople all believe coming from the mouth of a visitor."

"Especially from one so esteemed as yourself," Dr. Jacoby added.

"I believe in the old maxim that beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Major Briggs announced. "But in the case of this wondrous place, I think we can all agree objectively that there's nowhere quite like our corner of the world."

"Amen to that," Truman raised his glass, and Cooper smiled, heaving another contented sigh into the overflowing Palmer living room.

Mere hours had passed since Leland Palmer was interred in a plot adjacent to his daughter's. Cooper had noted that Sarah Palmer had been right: there was barely any grass yet covering Laura's grave. But sadder still was the fact that the cold nights that still pervaded the hauntingly beautiful landscape Cooper loved so much had frost-bitten and wilted the once lively bouquets arranged around Laura's headstone. The brittle, brownish stems stood out against the freshness of Leland's arrangements, a fact that made Cooper not a little bit sad. _The passage of time takes no prisoners, amongst either the living or the dead,_ he thought, suddenly wishing he'd brought a bouquet to lay on the daughter's grave as well as the father's.

Cooper excused himself for a moment, wandering near the food spread and eyeing the plates of deviled eggs and Waldorf salad, odd dishes with marshmallows and gelatin that he'd never seen and had no real interest in taste-testing; instead, he opted for a small glass of punch, poured by a younger member of the Hayward family, and consumed as he waded through the sea of people, looking for someone to bump into.

That's when he saw Audrey, nestled on the couch next to Sarah, deep in conversation. It made him smile. Audrey, he noted, took over the role of caregiver so effortlessly. He wanted to watch her hold hands with the grieving widow and mother, to listen to her hushed affirmations of the good still left in this world, to feel the warmth radiating from her solar plexus…

She lifted her eyes and for a moment they collided with his, and he felt the butterflies-in-his-stomach feeling that he thought he'd left behind in middle school rear up next to the sandwich and the punch. She lost her smile and her eyes darkened, and he suddenly wondered if he had been right in his actions the day before.

Permitting himself a moment to think, he remembered waking up next to her and ordering room service for two while she showered and got ready for their fishing trip. He recalled the delicate way she held her knife as she smeared a square of butter over a piece of still-warm rye toast, or the way she'd brushed crumbs from her lower lip with the tip of her thumb, completely unaware of her effect on him as he lost his ability to recognize the end of his hand and the handle of his coffee cup and spilled half of it onto himself and the bedspread. Audrey giggled and helped him clean up, but he knew this was bigger than a momentary lapse of concentration.

" _Audrey,_ "he'd said. " _We should talk…_ "

And they talked—obliquely—about expectations and reality, and when she didn't seem to get it, he got more focused and talked about his departure a mere few days away, and when that still failed to break through, whether owing to her naiveté or deliberate denial, he rested a hand on hers and broke it to her as gently as he could: " _I don't know if this is a good idea."_

Audrey didn't cry or rant and rail. She softened; she didn't finish her toast. But he didn't think she understood or was anywhere near okay with his unilateral decision; to be honest,  _he_ wasn't okay with his unilateral decision, as much for its unfairness to her for him to be deciding their future together as the fact that he hated the thought of not being with her.

But the romance of two beautiful nights together had given him a taste of something he knew he would start to crave, and if he couldn't think about her and pour his own damn coffee without sustaining first-degree burns to his thighs, how was he supposed to exercise his duties and responsibilities to the law, to the FBI? emThis is what got Caroline killed/em, he reminded himself, stopping just short of telling Audrey the full weight of that truth. He'd hurt her enough already, that much was clear—written into her eyes and the emotional tremble of her voice. He didn't want to scare her too.

Nevertheless, they cancelled their fishing trip; Cooper drove up to Pearl Lakes alone, and Audrey went home for the first time in who knows how long. That had been the last time he'd seen her.

Now, across the room from her, he wondered if he'd made the right decision. Logic dictated he had—that it was too dangerous, that she was too young, that he was incapable of both being a lawman and a lover—but passion dictated a different script. His heart surged as he thought about taking her away, muttering his apologies against her lips. But when he looked up at her again, she wasn't looking back.

 _It's over_ , he told himself.

Cooper's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the fight that broke out next to the buffet table, as Mayor Milford began cursing at his brother Dougie. From Cooper's point of view, it seemed amusing, despite its inappropriateness given the time and the place. Sheriff Truman and Ed Hurley worked themselves into the fray to dislodge the sparring siblings from their attack stances, and a few choice words from the young sheriff sent Doug and Dwayne on their ways.

Standing nearby, Doc Hayward and Pete Martell shared in Cooper's mild laughter.

"They seem to be having fun," he remarked.

"The mayor and his brother," Pete choked out. "Dougie owns the newspaper. They've had a running feud going for fifty years."

Doc Hayward was quick to add. "Nobody knows how it started. Something about an old flame and a rumble seat. I don't even think they know anymore."

Cooper listened with rapt attention, soaking up the latest droplets of small town life that he'd been gulping down by the bucketful since his arrival.

Pete shrugged. "The nest's a little stirred up right now. Dougie's engaged to be married. To a babe."

Doc Hayward added: "For the fifth time…"

"She's still in her teens, he's a hundred and ten," Pete drawled. "One o' those January-December sort of deals."

 _Amazing_ , Cooper thought to himself with a slow, bemused shake of his head.

"Remember the first time Dwayne ran for mayor? When was that?" Doc Hayward asked Harry, who had joined their circle.

The young sheriff racked his brain. "Oh uh...62? Yeah, 1962."

The doctor gave a quick chortle. "Dougie wrote an editorial, came out against Dwayne…and he was running emunopposed/em…"

Cooper shook his head again, catching the eye of his partner-in-crime-prevention. "Harry," he started. "I'm really gonna miss this place."

Harry clapped a hand onto Cooper's shoulder. "Well we're gonna miss you too," he said, with a deliberate glance over toward the sofa in the sitting room. "Some of us more than others."

Cooper knew—without looking—who he was referring to. He shook his head and gazed into his cup. "Harry, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Harry nodded slowly, sagely, and stifled a laugh of his own. "If you say so."

Cooper sighed. "If you must know…" he started. "There are some I'll miss more than others."

"Like who?"

Cooper allowed himself to stray, his eyes falling to the graceful slope of Audrey's shoulders, the soft line of her hair against the nape of her neck and the pale skin he saw peeking through the space in between the cascade of ebony tresses and the collar of her black jacket. He concealed a sigh and hoped Harry was none the wiser as he chirped up again and placed a hand firmly on the sheriff's shoulder.

"Well you, for starters."

Harry laughed and downed what was left of his punch, and the two of them made their way to the table for a refill.


	2. Non, je ne regrette rien

* * *

 

As morning waned and afternoon settled over Twin Peaks, the warmth of the mid-March sun disappeared behind the perennial cloud cover and a light rain started to fall, and Cooper's mind wandered. The rush and bustle of the last weeks had given way to the kind of peaceful quiet that rightly belonged in towns such as this, but it had done little to mollify Cooper's sense of unease. It all seemed a little too easy. The case he'd been sent there to solve had been solved, but more than just wondering what was next he worried about the tidiness of it all—a man had brutally slaughtered his own niece and daughter, under the influence of a violent spiritual entity, but with the bodies in the ground it seemed like no one else was concerned about the implications of what had happened anymore. He had worried about where that spirit had gone, untethered as it was now; if BOB was still out there, somewhere, in some form or another, what did the future would hold for this town he had fallen so desperately in love with?

But even then, his concerns only seemed to take him so far. What days before had seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle—his departure from Twin Peaks—now seemed just another event he was staring down with every ounce of Fidelity, Bravery, an Integrity he had in him. He had already started packing, all at once, for his fishing trip with Major Briggs that evening and for his return flight, Sea-Tac to Philadelphia International, on the following day. He would say goodbye to his soon-to-be former colleagues at the Sheriff's station; he'd already said many fond farewells at Leland's funeral.

 _But could that really be it?_  he asked, studiously folding a pair of boxer shorts and placing it on the end of the bed.  _Is this how you vacate your dream?_

A knock at his door broke his concentration. "Bellman?" he called out, hearing the door swish open almost as soon as the words left his lips. He continued to pack, and only when he saw the saddle shoes in his peripheral at the end of his bed did he stop to look up.

_Audrey_

"Customer relations," she said matter-of-factly. "Has everything been satisfactory during your stay with us, Mr. Cooper?"

He allowed a small smile, even as his heart flip-flopped in his chest. Holding up a hand, oath-like, he replied. "Audrey, I have no complaints."

He didn't know what had possessed him to say that, but as he saw disappointment cloud her eyes, he wished he hadn't.  _Of course you have complaints,_  he scolded himself, suddenly remembering all the reasons he had for staying.  _Complaints, and regrets, and desires deeper than the gorge outside your window…_  
  
"When are you leaving?" she asked as every last note of professionalism left her voice and it cracked along the seams between the words, belying the youthful innocence he had so expertly ignored in his base desire to bed her; innocence he—like the mythical Sasquatch, he could see that now—had trampled on with ruthless aplomb.

By way of an answer he didn't really want to give, he dodged the question. "I'm going fishing."

He should have known—he  _did_  know—that Audrey was smarter than that. "But you  _are_  leaving," she stated.

He nodded and set his lips. "Yes, in effect I am."

Cooper saw her step forward, the hesitant expectation in her girlish gait, flirtation in her hips and the playful smile on her lips. "So this is it? she asked. "You save my life then break my heart?"

He sighed and hesitated; she had his number. "Audrey I've explained to you my personal policy about involving—"

Even before she spoke up he knew what a load of hogwash it was.  _How serious are you about that policy once you've already ripped it to shreds?_  he asked himself.  _Destroyed and annihilated in_ _this very bed?_

Audrey was not impressed. "Yeah, I know. I know. I'm a teenager and—"

"And you were involved in a case I was working on."

It pacified her, slightly, but even then he knew he was guilty of spouting half-truths and misinformation. Her age had nothing to do with it; neither did his. She was involved in a case, yes, but it wasn't his, not officially. There was no FBI record of his sojourn to One Eyed Jack's to rescue her; he'd been acting alongside the Bookhouse Boys, a ragtag grassroots operation at best. There was no "case" for her name to be attached to anyway. What did it really matter?

 _Just tell her, Dale…_ he thought.  _Tell her why…_

"Someone must have hurt you once really badly," Audrey offered.

Cooper blinked and marvelled at Audrey's intuition. She'd offered him the perfect opportunity to come clean, to be honest, to hopefully reinforce that all of this was not artifice or flighty but designed purposefully to guard her, to keep her safe. He looked at her, regarding her gently. "No," he breathed. "Someone was hurt by me. And I'll never let that happen again."

Audrey seemed to consider the new information. "What happened?" she asked. "Did she die or something?"

Cooper nodded. "As a matter of fact, she did." He paused, rearranging socks and boxers in his suitcase. "You wanna know how?"

Audrey didn't reply; he knew he had her attention.

"She was a material witness to a federal crime," he started. "We were supposed to protect her, twenty-four hours a day, my partner and I. Windom Earle was his name…" he trailed off, growing thoughtful. "He taught me everything I know about being a special agent. And, when the attempt on her life was finally made, I wasn't ready. Because I loved her," he added. "She died in my arms…"

Audrey sighed, full of sadness and grief; her blue eyes watered.

"I was badly injured," he continued. "And my partner lost his mind."

He turned to face her, sizing up her reaction, hoping he had made the right choice in telling her. "You need to hear any more?"

She shook her head, barely, her chestnut tresses bobbing along her jaw as she did.

"Audrey," he said, stepping closer to her. "I like you—and I care about you."  _Understatement of the century,_  he reprimanded himself, but continued on. "And I'll always consider you my friend."

It was far from enough, for him, and he knew Audrey wanted more too. He could see it on her face and in the way she drew a breath before speaking, trying to be strong but with fault lines appearing through her middle. "Friendship is the foundation of any lasting relationship," she said.

They were his words, quoted verbatim, and coming from her at this juncture they carried such hope and optimism. Cooper couldn't take that from her—even though he knew there would be no "lasting relationship" to speak of, not really, especially not once he'd jettisoned the vestments of this hamlet in the mountains and stepped onto the jetway in Seattle. But he would let her have the illusion she needed; it was the very least he could do.

"It's nice to be quoted accurately," he told her.

Audrey laughed and took a few steps back from the end of his bed. "Well," she started. "Let me tell you something, Agent Cooper."

Her words stood at a formal distance from their once-upon-a-time closeness, all of a sudden, and Cooper realized he had no other desire than to hear his name on her lips once again; not his title followed by his last name, nothing professional like that. He wanted to hear  _his name_. Dale. Panic surged through him, momentarily, at the thought of never hearing it again.

Audrey continued unabated. "One of these days, before you know it, I'm gonna be grown up and on my own…" she pointed her finger at him. "And you'd better watch out."

"Okay Audrey," he smiled against the painful flutter behind his navel. "It's a deal."

He didn't want her to leave. He watched her aim for the door, saw her stop and heard her utter her glowing adulation once more—"You're perfect," she'd said, and he wanted to shake her for romanticizing him all over again because wasn't that the opposite of what they were trying to do? Break up cleanly?—but he was powerless to stop her. She left his field of vision and Cooper was overwhelmed, unable to accept this was to be their last meeting. Gutted, he leaned over the bed, staring at the pile of neatly organized undergarments in his suitcase. He could remember with fondness their first meeting—over a breakfast table in the Great Northern dining room, itchy palms and grapefruits and bobby socks. What would he remember about their parting? How did this full and abrupt stop provide any kind of meaningful closure after all they'd been through? This isn't what they deserved.

Only when he heard Audrey pull the door shut did he break from his reverie.

He called her name to the closed door as he walked towards it then, pulling on the handle with force he thought weaker construction might not have been able to withstand, only to see her standing on the threshold, hand poised to knock again. Tears stood up against her lashes.

"Oh," she said.

He tilted his head to the side, regarding her. "You're crying."

She swept her fingertips under her eyes, embarrassed. "It's nothing."

"Audrey—" he told her, slightly stunned.

Audrey furrowed her brow. "You know, I just wanted to say that I never wanted a fling. When I first came to you, I wanted—well, I don't know what I wanted, but it was more than that," she said finally, her words a stinging rebuke against him. It was more than unfair—he'd invaded, a foreign and far more sophisticated army against her timid naïveté, fighting on the virgin battleground of her heart. She had never stood a chance, with her youthful idealism sheltered, even as it was, behind a delinquent's visage. He wished he'd never kissed her, and he wished he'd never  _stopped_  kissing her. It was an odd sensation.

"I'm sorry Audrey," he said, lowering his voice as he cast his eyes up and down the hallway. "I've been unkind to you, inconsiderate. I should have told you the truth about my hesitation to get involved instead—"

Audrey's face melted into a smile. "It's okay," she said, seeming to forget her earlier frustration as she attempted to pacify him instead of the other way around. "I don't regret you. Do you regret me?"

He shook his head; his voice was stuck in his throat. "Of course not, Audrey. And I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve better than me, than this—the danger and the baggage. You deserve to meet a nice boy, get married—" None of it was what he wanted to say to her— _Damn it, Audrey, you leave me so tongue-tied I don't know whether I'm coming or going!_ —because of course he didn't actually want that, but in his desire to comfort it was all he had to work with.

"In this town?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes before grinning at him. "Where boys like Bobby Briggs and Mike Nelson are the picks of the litter?"

It  _was_  a thought, and one Cooper didn't like; the idea of those  _boys_  holding Audrey's hand, kissing Audrey, making love with Audrey…it gave him serious pause. "Well—"

"No, Agent Cooper, I think if I can't be with you today then I'll wait," she smiled. "For the day when a tall, dark, handsome Boy Scout rolls back into town and sweeps me off my feet again."

That was another thought. He placed one hand in his pocket and leaned against the door frame, considering her for a long moment. Maybe she was right. Maybe this could be a hiatus and not a finale…

Once again glancing down the corridor, both ways, Cooper stepped forward. "C'mere," he said, and she closed the gap between them, folding herself into his embrace. He sighed the sigh of a deeply contented man and focused all his energy on remembering the details—the warmth of her body, the pressure of her arms around his midsection, where  _precisely_  his chest her head rested, the scent of her skin—that he hoped would get him through the long and lonely nights until, maybe, they could be together again.

But the moment ended, and far too soon, as Audrey stepped back until they were a good two feet apart. She stuck her hand into the void vacated by her own body and waited until Cooper shook it.

"Safe travels," she whispered.

"Until then."

And away she walked.  _That's better, Coop_ , he thought to himself as her figure disappeared around a corner and the bellman he had requested rounded from the opposite direction and made his way down to his room.

Cooper sighed—his voice catching on a sob lodged in his throat, that hiccuped his breath into a soft vocalization he was embarrassed to make—and retreated back across the threshold to finish packing. The uneasiness had disappeared—if things were too tidy, well, that's how they were going to be. He was satisfied, at least for now, with the way the bow was knotted on this particular chapter in his story.


	3. Misfeasance

* * *

 

COOPER: Diane…it's approximately 5:45 on the afternoon of March fourteenth. Im sitting in the conference room at the Twin Peaks sheriff's station and not, as I should be, on an A319 Airbus  _en route_ to Philadelphia. ( _Pause_ ) What started as a somber day of reflection on the life of one of Twin Peaks' elder statesman—a man turned so wholly evil that he was barely recognizable in the end—has taken a surprisingly strange and dark turn. ( _Pause_ ) Although at the time I'm recording this for you—and most certainly by the time you hear it—you'll probably already know the details, it still behooves me to tell you that I've been suspended, indefinitely, and without pay, for my actions surrounding the rescue of Audrey Horne from her kidnappers last week. ( _Pause_ ) I knew I would likely have to pay the piper for my unexcused jaunt into Canada without their government's permission, but the rest of it is a mystery to me. Murder, drug charges…( _Knock at the door; Cooper pauses a beat before continuing_ ) I will have to postpone my return, Diane, until the legal issues in which I've become ensnared are sorted out. I trust you'll take care of the necessary arrangements…

* * *

"Misfeasance?" Sheriff Truman questioned. "That's a stretch…"

Cooper steepled his fingers on the table top. "Not exactly," he said. "I did engage in unlawful actions, as soon as I stepped across the border."

"But you did it because Audrey was in trouble," Deputy Andy replied.

"You had an obligation to her, as a lawman," offered Hawk.

"A personal obligation, or a moral one, perhaps," Cooper frowned. "But the wrongful exercise of lawful authority is the very definition of the term  _misfeasance_. This is all to say nothing of the murder and drug charges…"

"It's hogwash!" Truman pounded a fist on the table.

Cooper tried to calm his friend down. "Harry, I'm a firm believer that those who have done nothing wrong have nothing to fear. I will answer the charge of misfeasance, for which I must, and I will fight the others with a clear conscience and a defence of innocence."

Lucy, who stood in the doorway, suddenly hitched a sob and walked over to Cooper, throwing her arms around his neck in an emotional outburst that surprised the assembled deputies into stunned silence. Cooper, himself, was overcome; he lifted a hand and patted Lucy's shoulder in comfort before smiling.

"Gentlemen, Lucy…I have a fishing trip to finish packing for. And then I must figure out my living arrangement for the next little while. I don't know how long I'll be staying, but if it isn't too much trouble, Harry—"

"You're staying at the Great Northern," Truman said, his voice firm. "On the sheriff's department's dime."

Cooper was stunned. "But I—"

"Lucy took care of everything as soon as we heard," the sheriff said. "It's a done deal, Coop."

Agent Cooper smiled, warmly. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything," Truman nodded.

Cooper set his mouth in a line and nodded, curtly, before pushing himself up to stand at the head of the table. Reflexively, he swivelled his hips to avoid clanking his gun and badge on the underside of the table as he stood, but when he felt his belt and holster, he remembered that he had no gun, and had no badge. Like a war veteran with phantom limb pain, Cooper knew he was going to have trouble getting used to the idea of being without those things that not only made him a law enforcement official but which contributed to his entire sense of self.

But he forced a smile and excused himself, walking as stoically as possible out of the room, into wholly uncharted territory, while his heart hammered in his rib cage…

* * *

TRUMAN: This is the statement of FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper, taken on Wednesday March the fifteenth. It is approximately 4:45 in the morning. Agent Cooper, what happened tonight at Pearl Lakes?

COOPER: I scarcely know where to begin.

TRUMAN: Where were you with Major Briggs this evening?

COOPER: The Major had invited me to go night fishing with him, an invitation I initially accepted with heaviness owing to what I thought would be my hastening departure from town—a kind of farewell to this beautiful place, I thought—but which given my current circumstances became somewhat of a diversion.

TRUMAN: Your current situation being...?

COOPER: My suspension from the Federal Bureau of Investigations pending the outcome of an investigation into charges of misfeasance, drug trafficking, and murder. ( _Pause_ ) Baseless charges, and ones which I am prepared to defend myself against to the fullest extent of my ability.

TRUMAN: What time did you leave for Pearl Lakes?

COOPER: Nightfall.

TRUMAN: What happened there?

COOPER: We were unsuccessful in our attempt at catching any fish, save for a small lake trout that Major Briggs hauled up about an hour after our arrival. We returned to our campsite to eat our meagre catch, to warm up and then to bed down for the night. Together we enjoyed a philosophical discussion, about death and life and the mysteries of this earth. As you're familiar with the recent developments in the Palmer case, you'll understand why these questions were on the forefront of our minds.

TRUMAN: But for the record...?

COOPER: Certainly. ( _Pause_ ) In our pursuit of Laura Palmer's and, later, Madeleine Ferguson's killer, we discovered that elements of the supernatural seem to have left their mark, that there were perhaps otherworldly forces at play. With Leland Palmer's death three days ago, that supernatural force that existed within him has become something of a mystery. It was questions of this nature that we discussed: where did the evil spirit go? What was the fate of the people of this town now that it was let loose from the bonds of its corporeal prison? Was it even a prison to begin with and did Leland's death release it, or was Leland the conduit for evil-doings sought out by the spirit? Our conversation meandered from that point. Major Briggs was quite clear in his assessment of the entire situation. He told me—and I'm paraphrasing here—but he said it was some men's fate to face darkness, and that our choice of reaction determines the outcome. If I'm to understand that correctly, it might be extrapolated that Major Briggs believes that fear begets fear, and it's not an entirely unreasonable assumption. ( _Pause_ ) We spoke of the White Lodge, a place the existence of which the Major was quite certain. He seemed eager to continue our discussion, and I was eager to hear more, especially of this White Lodge, but we had been drinking coffee for quite some time and I felt the need to… _relieve_  myself, at which point I left the comfort of our campsite for the relative stillness of the trees. ( _Pause_ ) I heard an owl, and the Major calling my name, as if in warning. There was a bright light. I ran towards it. When I reached the campsite, I couldn't see the Major anymore. He had simply vanished.

TRUMAN: Vanished?

COOPER: To the best of my recollection, yes. Vanished.

TRUMAN: Do you have any idea where he might have gone?

COOPER: Sheriff, if I could answer those questions I don't think we'd be sitting here right now…but if I had to hazard a guess, I would have to say there was more to this than meets the eye…

( _Tape recorder clicks; silence_ )

 


	4. Diane

* * *

 

COOPER: Diane, Major Briggs has disappeared. His wife has assured us that he often disappears, quite suddenly, for work-related reasons; this very well may be one of them. In any event, his disappearance had only added another unanswerable twist to the baffling tale this town is weaving. As you know, the FBI Internal Affairs investigation into the raid on One Eyed Jack's has begun, and the DEA investigation is slated to begin tomorrow. I am relieved to hear that my old friend Dennis Bryson has been assigned to the DEA case. He is scheduled to arrive today. It will no doubt be a comfort to see a friendly face amongst my accusers. ( _Pause_ _; a sigh_ ) Apart from this, there are no significant developments to report about the goings-on in this timber town but for the sake of levity, I'll fill you in. There are rumours that Nadine Hurley—a woman of considerable… _fortitude_ —believes she's an eighteen year-old high school senior. Cheerleading tryouts are this week and she's gunning for a spot on the squad. ( _Soft chuckle_ ) It also appears that Lucy is the lynchpin in a love triangle the likes of which I've never seen: on one side is Andy Brennan, a stalwart, good-hearted man if ever there was one, while on the other is a rather effete men's fashion sales clerk named Richard…Dick to his friends. ( _Pause_ _; softly_ ) It may be I'm reaching on this one, but if I were a betting man I would wager that Lucy is expecting a child, and one of those two men is the prospective father. It's a sticky wicket, Diane…Oh, and Diane, I'm sending you a hand-written letter to the editor of the Seattle  _Post-Dispatch,_  regarding the rather unfortunate, harsh, and quite undeserved critique of the Double R by one M.T. Wentz, a food critic from the big city. I have been unable to find time to type it up myself, but you of all people know and can decipher my chicken scratch. If you could transcribe and forward it for me, it would be greatly appreciated. ( _Pause; deep sigh_ ) Apart from that, the only news of any import regards Miss Horne. But that can wait for another tape…

* * *

COOPER: Diane, one-thirty. Lunch at the station. Sandwiches. Ham and havarti on whole wheat, a dab of dijon mustard and a tomato slice, peach cobbler for dessert and two additional cups of coffee. May have to start thinking about cutting back, Diane. ( _Pause_ ) Ham and havarti. I don't think it gets much better than that. You know, I think if I had to rank my favourite cheeses in order of preference…well, it would be an impossible task. But I do know that I would probably put havarti in the top spot. ( _Pause_ ) Correction: Brie. ( _Pause_ ) Or a good, sharp cheddar…or maybe a creamy Edam, sliced just-so…

* * *

COOPER: Another cup of coffee Diane. Not sure how I'm gonna sleep this one off. But, now that some time has passed, I have to say: gouda. Smoked. On toast. ( _Pause_ ) And now I believe it's time to eat...

* * *

_Later that evening_

Cooper dried off his hair once more for good measure before hanging his towel back on the door and surveying his room—the same one he'd been staying in before his earlier departure. _Before everything went pear-shaped_ , he thought to himself. His suitcase sat open on the bed, and he rummaged through to find clothing suitable for the wedding reception he'd been invited to moments earlier by Denise—formerly-known-as Dennis—Bryson. Cooper grinned, eager to hear the details of that story.

But, for the most part, darker forces occluded his mind. Officially sanctioned by the Bureau, under investigation by the DEA, and stripped of his law enforcement credentials, Cooper felt in limbo and powerless. Making matters infinitely worse was the arrival that afternoon of another chess move. The move—a counter to Cooper's own retaliatory salvo fired days earlier upon the receipt of Earle's opening—was accompanied by a micro cassette tape containing a mocking warning from his former partner, Windom Earle. It was something he hadn't thought about since that day. Returning with Audrey from One Eyed Jack's had been enough of a distraction from the opening of the game, and Gordon Cole's warning about Windom had mostly gone unheeded.

But now, with no official and sanctioned ability to investigate his partner or his whereabouts, or without any means to defend himself, he felt utterly adrift, waiting, it seemed, for the inevitable return.

Cooper stalked the floorboards of his suite, deep in thought for many long moments until he pulled out his cassette recorder, intent on talking his way through the confusion.

"Diane," he started. "I'll be making a quick stop at the Milford wedding downstairs this evening. I hope it will prove refreshing." He paused, turning to his suitcase and the pages of literature he'd managed to photocopy at the Twin Peaks Public Library that afternoon—from spiritualist guides and the local history books. "I had a rather interesting conversation with Deputy Hawk and Sheriff Truman about local legends, related, I think, directly to the disappearance of Major Briggs." He flipped through the pages, poring once again over diagrams and maps and highlighted sections of legendary tales that added to the information he'd been passed at the Sheriff's station. He lowered his voice reverentially. "Diane, there's an old Native American legend in this part of the state about a place called the White Lodge, full of the spirits that rule man and nature. Major Briggs mentioned this White Lodge—in fact, it was the last thing he spoke of before he disappeared. That can't be a coincidence." He paused. "The counterpart to the White Lodge is called the Black Lodge and, as the name might suggest, it is the opposite in nature to the White. Every spirit passing from this world to the next must traverse through the Black Lodge on its way to perfection. I believe the closest correlation might be Heaven for the White Lodge, and Hell for the Black. It is there, in the Black Lodge, that it is said you meet your Shadow Self. Hawk's people call this Shadow Self the 'Dweller on the Threshold.' I quite like the images that conjures," he said, pausing to consider the papers again. "Something else Hawk told me has left me puzzled and more curious than ever. He said that confronting the Black Lodge with imperfect courage will lead to the destruction of your soul. It seems a concept very near to the heart of what the Major spoke of last night. With a heart of fear, how can anyone expect true courage?" He chuckled finally, softly. "But perhaps that's a philosophical discussion for another time."

He put the recorder down and set his hands on his hips, considering the papers in front of him with a deep, unhurried sigh. "Diane, there is more here than meets the eye. But maybe I've been looking at this the wrong way. Maybe, now that my law enforcement responsibilities have been so severely curbed, I will have time to investigate this more fully from a lay person's perspective. Without paperwork, without bureaucracy, on my own time and at my own pace." He considered the revelation with a guarded smile. "I cannot lie, it is a thought that calms me greatly. Regardless, as always, I will keep you apprised of the situation."

Cooper clicked the recorder off and set it on the bedspread. With a deep-seated sigh, he pulled out a casual suit in deep navy blue, and forcibly pushed any thoughts of Earle or the investigation from his mind.  _Tonight_ , he thought to himself,  _we feast_ _…_


	5. Slow Dance

* * *

 

For all his maneuverings—physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual—it was perhaps inevitable that Agent Cooper would end up quietly slow-dancing with Audrey Horne in the dining room of the Great Northern hotel, at the wedding reception of an octogenarian publishing magnate and his twenty-something bride, following a conversation with Agent Bryson that called to mind all of Cooper's limited knowledge of the DSM and its recommendations about gender identification disorders. The whole night seemed to be about par for the course; he should have expected as much.

After hours of cold, analytical dissection of their conversation from the day prior—when he'd told her about Caroline, about Windom Earle, and about the real origins of his personal policies regarding relationships—Cooper had been struck by the disparate portions of himself, the conflicting desires and the way they seemed to assert their presence at the most inopportune times. The loss of his job, however temporary, had sent him reeling, to be sure. It would have been a balm to have a steady soul to stand with at such a juncture, and it took a lot to resist her. Because yes, a part of him desperately needed to push her as far away from him as possible, for her own safety and his own sanity; but a much stronger part of his unconscious had different designs.

This was the part of him that let Audrey slip into the space created by his outstretched arms on the dance floor that night; that guided his right hand into the only place it had ever felt so at home—along the sensual, delicate curve where Audrey's back became Audrey's  _something-else_ —and that gave Cooper all sorts of frustration as he flexed his fingers and guided her closer to him until they were swaying and connected most intimately; that folded his left hand around her right and, at one point, pulled their conjoined hands into the narrow space between their bodies not yet occupied by either of them, nestled right against his chest. He brushed his nose through her curls and heard her inhale his aftershave right off his jaw. Not a word was spoken, and for a long moment, he forgot where he was and who he was and all the trouble he was in. The danger of being close to Audrey Horne had suddenly turned into a benefit, and he was grateful for the diversion.

But Margaret Lanterman approached them after the first song, holding out her hands in front of her, her log firmly pressed in the notch of her elbow. "In my day," she intoned, "We danced _this far_  apart."

It made Audrey giggle as the older woman left but it made Cooper uneasy, and with nervous eyes he scanned the room for nosy stares as he released Audrey slightly from his embrace and the new song picked up the tempo.

"You're an excellent dancer," Audrey smiled, echoing their previous dance floor confessional. He noted with wry satisfaction that her cheeks were flushed.

"The wonderful thing about dancing, Audrey, is that you never know where the steps will lead," Cooper said, matter-of-factly. "You have to hang on and hope the music takes you there."

Audrey continued to blush. "I remember where it led us before."

Cooper's smile diminished.

"You know I was right, don't you?"

"About what?"

"Circumstances," she said. "The last time you held me like this you were going to breeze your way out of town in a matter of days. Now—"

"Audrey."

She shrugged. "I just think that maybe I could be right about a lot of things," she told him. "Like us."

The word—'us'—ping-ed off his heart and landed heavy in the basement of his stomach. He groaned, feeling the air rush out of his lungs. "Audrey—what I told you last night…this is very dangerous business…"

Audrey nodded. "I know that," she said.

"Audrey, I don't know if you do," Cooper shook his head; it was purposeful without being malicious. He was leaving no room for misinterpretation, shutting off the side of him that was resistant to this plan and running full throttle into the fray, consequences be damned, but he would be gentle with her. "I  _can't_  let what happened to Caroline happen to you. I  _won't_  let it. If that means I can't be…"

Audrey shook her smile right off her face. "I thought after everything that happened yesterday—your suspension and the fact that you're staying here—I thought you'd change your mind about me."

"It's not you I have to change my mind about, Audrey." Cooper looked over her shoulder, glad to see that no one—as far as he could tell—was watching them. "I'm staying here because I've been suspended. I've been suspended because a grave lapse in my own judgment influenced by my feelings for you led me to commit crimes in a foreign country the consequences of which—"

Audrey had practically stopped moving. "Are you angry with me? Because you've been suspended?"

Cooper shook his head. "Of course not, Audrey—"

"I'll talk to Daddy. He knows people. They can have you reinstated." She was pleading, desperate. "I should have never gone up there."

"No, you shouldn't have," he said, his voice soft, "But that's beside the point."

"Could you honestly go to  _jail_ for this?"

Cooper pitched his head to the side and sighed as he nodded. "Yes, but—"

She twisted her face into a grimace.

"Audrey," he intoned, "I don't regret what I did. Not even for a second." His sharp recall brought him back to the day he was first shown the tape sent to Ben Horne, watching Audrey, bound and gagged and fighting against her captors, and his stomach dropped out and down and into his shoes. He tightened his embrace, holding her close—protectively—as he let his lips brush the top of her hair. He squeezed her hand, hoping to impart some semblance of reassurance. If he did, it didn't register on her normally open, expressive face; when he pulled away to look at her, her eyes were guarded, her lips pressed in a line razor-straight, and he guessed she was stifling tears. He tried again. "I would do it again in a heartbeat if faced with the same situation," he said, adding with a soft chuckle: "I might call the Mounties first, but—"

"But your oath," she said, with all the seriousness the situation invoked. "This is your career on the line."

Cooper was neither frustrated by his inability to say what he had originally wanted to say, nor deterred by the emotional state of the woman in front of him. He approached the subject with matter-of-fact precision. "Audrey, yes, I took an oath. But I'm beholden to more than just the Bureau. It was more than my  _duty_ to rescue you. It was...personal. For me. I wouldn't change that. But that's the problem, Audrey—it can't be personal. Not ever. And with you, personal is all it is. Deeply personal."

She lifted her eyes to his; he saw there were tears gathering along the lower fringe. "I don't know what to say," she shrugged. "You say such wonderful things that make me think you care about me and then—"

He fought every urge in his body to close the charged space between them and seal his lips to hers. "I do care about you. Very much," he said. "But I also know the dangers. I know them intimately, deeply, and far better than you should ever have cause to. And so long as I'm in your life, you're at risk."

She clucked her tongue and stiffened in his arms. "And then you push me away," she said, finishing her sentence from before.

Cooper saw her bristle, anticipated her next words:  _I_ _'_ _m eighteen. I_ _'_ _m grown up. You can_ _'_ _t tell me what to do._

"I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you," he whispered finally. "Not again."

"You don't know that it will."

"I know Windom Earle, and I know what he's capable of."

"Dale."

It broke his heart, hearing the way her voice cracked as she said his name, and the sadness in her eyes as she read his reaction and realized he was not changing his mind. She shook her head once again, confused and disillusioned, and as the song finally ended she turned and faked a smile as she left the room, swiping at her eyes as she did.

Cooper waited until she was through the doors and out sight before he let himself feel anything.

And what he felt like was a cad, though a casual observer might have labelled him far worse. He'd broken his Golden Rule about getting involved, not only with someone involved in one of his cases but with a much younger girl— _Woman,_ he corrected himself—than he might rightly have laid claim to otherwise. He'd made love with her on two separate occasions—here, Cooper might have said "Twice" but honesty was a virtue he prized above all others, and he had honestly lost count of the number of times he and Audrey and journeyed to that most erotic of heights together within the span of those two glorious nights.

And then, when it was all said and done, he'd pushed her away. For her own good, he told himself.  _But since when do you get to decide the fate of another, consenting adult?_ his inquiring mind buzzed at him.

He had no reply, so he tried to think of something other than her smile as he made his way back to the bar. He dodged questions from Sheriff Truman and ordered a beer, but quickly decided he wanted to neither sit nor drink and so excused himself with a weak apology and made his way through the lobby to the elevators, down the hall and to his room.

There, he collapsed onto the bed without taking off his suit and fell promptly to sleep, dreaming of music notes and barstools, blue roses and pretty girls with ebony hair and crimson lips, weeping softly as they danced on a worn timber floor…

* * *

COOPER: I broke her heart, Diane. I wanted to save her and I broke her heart…( _Pause_ ) I wish I could say honestly that I am glad to have put some distance between myself and Audrey, for I fear that I've let our relationship become too much of a liability. It's no longer a question of  _if_ Windom Earle re-inserts himself physically into my life, but a question of  _when_ , and the fewer people around me when that inevitable confrontation happens, the better. ( _Pause_ ) But, this is of course not to say that I don't wish for better circumstances. I can think of dozens of scenarios in which Audrey and I could happily continue down the path we're on…I just don't know how to do that now, with so much at stake. ( _Pause_ ) I have let far too many people get hurt, and Audrey cannot be another. I only wish there was some way for her to see that…


	6. Missing Pieces

* * *

 

**Thursday, March 16**

Cooper and Truman waited until the door on Truman's office shut completely and Air Force Colonel Riley had left the room before looking up at each other in stunned silence.

"Those messages came from the woods," Truman whispered.

"I'm tellin' ya, Harry, there's more to this story…" Cooper replied taking a long sip from his Bakelite coffee mug.

"I believe you, Coop," Truman offered. "But I don't know how—"

"Harry, perhaps it's best to not focus on the  _how_  right now and figure out the  _what_  first," he said.

Truman's shrug was emphatic. "White Lodges. Spirit worlds. Outer space messages emanating from Ghostwood forest…" he locked eyes with the FBI agent. "That's the what. And where does that get us?"

Cooper nodded. "I know, Harry."

Truman sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Heard you were up with Irene looking at real estate," the sheriff smiled. "Thinkin' about putting down some roots here?"

Cooper smiled. "Perhaps, Harry. But that's what I came here to talk about," he said. "We looked at a place called Dead Dog Farm—"

"That piece of garbage?" Truman asked, incredulous. "Coop, you can't be serious."

Cooper barrelled ahead, ignoring Truman's protestations. "Despite the fact that no one has been shown the property in over a year, we discovered fresh tire tracks in the mud outside. There'd been a meeting there, Harry. And there was cocaine in the sink."

Truman sat back in disbelief. "Holy smokes."

Cooper shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis and nodded. "I am confident that the cocaine will match that Agent Bryson found in my car—"

"Wait," Truman held up a hand. "She found  _cocaine_ in your car?"

Cooper nodded. "I'm afraid so."

Truman shook his head. "This must look bad…"

"Yes, Harry, it does," Cooper admitted. "But something is afoot, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

"Did you want me to put in a call to Agent Bryson?"

"No need," Cooper said. "I'll tell her myself. She wants to see me exonerated as much as anyone. She'll know what to do…"

* * *

COOPER: Diane, I'm holding in my hand a nationally distributed newspaper. My opening move responding to Windom Earle's opening move was printed in the personal columns, per my instructions. But I've already received my response to this ( _Pause_ :) yesterday. He anticipated my response to his opening move perfectly. ( _Quietly_ ) He's toying with me, Diane. I wonder where he is, and what he's planning. ( _Pause_ ) Meanwhile, I've spent the last two days without badge and gun the best way I know how: occupying both body and spirit. Looked into some real estate, what the local agent charitably refers to as a 'fixer-upper.' Nonetheless, it's the kind of place where a man might make his home, start a family-something, in spite of my past, I still hope I'm able to do. (Pause) However, as is the case here in Twin Peaks, even this bucolic hideaway is filled with secrets...secrets that may be connected to my trouble at the bureau, and the cocaine that was found in my automobile.(Long pause) Agent Hardy's deliberations will soon be completed, and if I'm not adequately able to defend myself, there's a very real possibility of imprisonment…( _Knock at door faintly heard in background; click of the tape being shut off_ )

* * *

Audrey's appearance on the other side of the door was more of a surprise than it might have been weeks earlier, before their assignation began; he looked at her—professional, in a business suit and smartly styled hair—and wondered what she could possibly be doing calling on him, after their tumultuous parting the night before at the Milford wedding reception.

"Hello Agent Cooper," she said.

"Audrey," he said, trying to hide his surprise. He opened the door for her, noticing the manila envelope in her hands.

She crossed the room, head bowed, and offering no clues as to whether this was a personal or professional call. But when she turned around and presented him with the envelope, Cooper stopped.

"This is for you," she said. "I stole it."

"Don't you think you'd better give it back?" Cooper drawled, hearing a flirtatious play amongst his words that he mentally kicked himself for right before the flutter in Audrey's eyelashes did it for him—chastised him. She wasn't playing around.

"Not until you look at what's inside."

Cooper smiled. "Okay," he agreed, taking the folder. "What am I gonna find in here, Audrey?"

"Pictures my father paid for."

Cooper slid the glossy 8 x 10s out of the envelope, and was met with a familiar sight—the Dead Dog Farm in the background, a group of men clustered around three cars matching the descriptions of the cars he knew to have visited the farm earlier that day, before his realtor had brought him there. He recognized the face in the photo immediately: RCMP Sergeant King, in civilian attire; Hank Jennings; Norma Jennings' step-father Ernie; and Jean Renault.

His heart nearly stopped. This, and the cocaine in the plastic baggie on his dresser from the sink at the farm, had to be more than enough evidence to present to Agent Bryson, who was on her way as they stood there.

Audrey inhaled sharply. "I did good, didn't I?" she asked.

Cooper's relief was plainly evident in his voice. "Audrey…you did better than good. You may have saved my life."

He held her gaze for a long moment, watching as she smiled and settled into herself again. "Good," she breathed, before walking over to the desk chair under the window. "So that makes us even now?"

Without wanting to inspire hope for a hasty reunion, Cooper smiled as warmly as he could at her, grateful to hear an interruptive door knock break the sudden silence. He was relieved to see Agent Bryson standing on the other side.

"Denise!" Cooper exclaimed.

"Hi, Coop," she replied, embracing him.

"Sorry," Cooper heard Audrey's voice behind him. "Am I interrupting something?"

He cleared his throat. "Special Agent Denise Bryson, Drug Enforcement Agency, this is a very good friend of mine, Audrey Horne."

Audrey, rapt with attention and awe, rose from her seat to shake Agent Bryson's hand. "They have women agents?" she asked.

"More or less," Bryson offered.

Audrey was stunned into silence, which Cooper was eager to break. "Audrey, if you'll excuse us? Agency business."

"I-I thought you were suspended?" Audrey asked.

"I am," he said, adding: "Thanks again."

Audrey folded her hands over her hips, elbows jutting out, and regarded the tall agent to Cooper's right with a bemused smile. "Thank you…" she repeated before laughing. "Well, uh—you're welcome."

Cooper let out a chuckle, and was taken completely off guard when Audrey sidled up to him and pressed her lips to his. He didn't even have time to remove his own hands from his belt loops before she had stepped back and was sauntering out the door.

Agent Bryson eyed him sideways as he ran a thumb across his lower lip. "These are photographs of an abandoned property on the outskirts of town," he started, changing the subject. He pointed to the players in the photo. "Jean Renault. Hank Jennings. Norma Jennings' stepfather. Sergeant King, Mounted Police. They were at the scene earlier today." Cooper handed the photo off to Bryson and retrieved the cocaine from the dresser. "In the kitchen, I found traces of cocaine and a baby laxative used to step it up. I think if you compare this, which was taken from the farm, with the stuff found in my automobile, you'll find it'll be a match."

Bryson took the baggie from Cooper's hand. "That's good news, Coop."

"Yeah."

"Now can we talk about something more important?"

Cooper quizzed his friend with a knit brow as Bryson purred: "Exactly how old is that  _girl_?"

Cooper managed a laugh. "Denise, I would assume you're no longer interested in girls."

They made their way to the door and Denise scoffed. "Coop, I may be wearing a dress, but I still pull my panties on one leg at a time, if you know what I mean."

She clapped a hand to Cooper's neck and made her way through the door, and Cooper shook his head, flabbergasted. "Not really," he muttered as he shut the door on the hallway.

* * *

 **Later that day** **…**

Back at the station, Cooper had discovered every male body in the building held in rapt attention by the lithe and willowy Lana Milford, widowed as of that morning. She was telling a story about the time she caught a raccoon in her backyard when she was eight; from the sounds of things, it wasn't the most incredible story, but no one seemed to mind.

Cooper knocked before entering. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Sheriff Truman wiped the bemused smile off his face and stood up, and the spell was broken. Lana beamed as the men stood up, and everyone but Truman crowded around her as she was escorted to the door of the station.

Lucy, watching over from the desk, marched over to the door. She had five yellow Post-Its sticking to her fingertips. "You've got messages," she spat, stretching her hand out to the Sheriff as he got to the door, the last one to file out of the room. With a sideways glance at Cooper, however, she pulled her hand back and removed two of the stickies—evidently believing them to be lacking or in poor taste, perhaps, though Cooper didn't get a good look at them before she got rid of them—crumbling them up into the fist at her side and indignantly thrusting her hand back at her boss.

"Thanks Lucy," Truman said, taking the stickies from her. "Why don't you go on home."

She cast a glance at the vestibule; the men were still gathered, lovesick, between the double doors.

" _Hmpf!_ " she uttered, stomping back to her desk and gathering her things. A moment later, she was marching down the hall towards the rear entrance to the building.

Sheriff Truman shrugged and glanced at the stickies. "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem," Cooper returned.

"What brings you down the mountain at this hour?"

Cooper had forgotten entirely about the manila envelope given to him by Audrey that afternoon. Tightly gripped in his hand, he hadn't been able let the envelope out of his sight since the moment she'd placed it in his hands. He handed it over to the Sheriff. "I received these photos from Audrey this afternoon. It seems Ben Horne paid for them to be taken."

Truman slid the photos into his hand and thumbed through them. "It's mighty suspicious," Truman said. "Jean Renault, Hank Jennings, that Mountie, and Ernie Niles…none of it sits right, but it all makes sense."

"Exactly."

"We have to find the weakest link in the chain," Truman said. "See if they'll turn—"

Cooper held up his hand. "Ten steps ahead of you," he smiled. "Denise found Ernie over at the Double R. He turned so fast it made my head spin. He's reluctant, but agreed to our plan."

Truman eyed his friend with careful suspicion. "What plan?"

Cooper's grin widened. "For Denise to pose as a wealthy out-of-town buyer looking to score. Ernie will be our point of contact. We wire them both, get them talking…" he shrugged. "Clean a few skid marks off the criminal underbelly in this sleepy town and clear my name, all in one fell swoop."

Truman's eyebrows flickered up and and down as he let out a low whistle. "An undercover drug bust," he said. "That's never been something I had on my bucket list…but it's an intriguing idea."

"And it can't be pulled off without help from Twin Peaks' finest."

Truman nodded slowly, sagely. "When did you want to put this… _plan_  into place?"

"As soon as humanly possible," Cooper returned. "Ernie's not the bravest of souls. He's not gonna run, but he's leaking courage by the bucketful and if we don't act, he'll bleed dry before we know it."

Truman continued to nod. "I've never done one of these things before. You think you could…talk me through it?"

Cooper felt as though he couldn't smile any wider. "Harry, I thought you'd never ask!"

He clapped a hand onto the Sheriff's shoulder and was about to head into his office when the station doors flew open. Turning their attention, Cooper and Truman were startled to see Major Briggs stumble into the lobby, clutch at the planter boxes lining the waiting area, and pass out cold on the floor mats in front of the reception desk.


	7. Dead Dog Farm

* * *

 

 **Friday, March 17  
** **Very early morning**

Sitting and waiting was the worst part, and Cooper was terrible at it. An inquiring mind begets an active body; he could never feel quite right unless he was  _doing_  something. But what was there to do? He opened the window to the conference room and counted the stars he could see and inhaled the heady scent of rain and earth and pine, remembering absently that what he smelled was called "petrichor" and making a mental note to tell Harry about it because nowhere in the world had he ever smelled it as strongly as he did right here.

Cooper brushed the back of his hand across his brow and leaned closer to the window to cool down. Major Briggs had been, essentially, catatonic since his arrival at the station. His wife had been close behind him as he marched into the station; she told Cooper and Sheriff Truman that he'd seemed fine when he first reappeared in their living room a few hours before, but that his demeanour had changed as their car neared the station. He became looser, more lethargic, and his collapse in the reception area was not surprising to her. Cooper was awed. What kind of life did the Major lead that normalized experiences like this for those closest to him?

Four hours had passed since his arrival, and Major Briggs was still sitting in the conference room, his back straight as an arrow, Betty knitting silently at his side until she had fallen asleep against his shoulder. As the witching hour approached, Cooper heard the door to the conference room open, and saw Sheriff Truman toe his way into the room as silent as the night. In one hand he carried a hot cup of coffee; in the other, an early edition of the local newspaper.

Cooper pressed a finger to his lips and nodded toward Mrs. Briggs. "She's finally nodded off."

"And the Major?"

Cooper shook his head. "Nothing."

Truman took a sip of his coffee; the aroma prickled the inside of Cooper's nose, and he briefly considered helping himself to a cup. But he knew he had to try and sleep in the hour before he took the next shift waiting for Major Briggs to reawaken.

"I've called Doc Hayward over," Truman said. "He's out delivering a baby. Said he'd be by whenever he finished."

"Busy night."

"You got that right."

Cooper nodded and turned once again to look out the window. Far away over the mountains, he swore he saw the auroras dancing. With a barely contained and gleeful smile spreading across his face, he turned to the Sheriff. "Harry, you know that smell—"

"How are things with Audrey?"

It wasn't so much the fact that Truman had cut him off that stopped Cooper from continuing, though that was part of it. The question itself caught him off guard.  _How are things with Audrey?_ That could have meant any number of things…

"Excuse me?"

Truman paused, wondering what part of the question was misunderstood. "Well I just figured that it's been a while since her abduction, she's settling back into her life again, making a recovery," Truman shrugged and took another swig of coffee. "Seemed like you'd be the guy to ask."

Cooper focused his eyes on a pattern of raindrops on the glass in front of him, each one catching light from the parking lot and the street beyond that and turning them into brilliant pinpricks of colour splashing about inside each droplet. He let himself get pulled in, past reds and cool whites from the street and the pale greens he swore he could see from the northern lights. He swam within the drop, drowning out the hum of the air recirculation system embedded in the drop ceiling, or the soft snore coming from Betty Briggs behind him. He fell over the edge of the highway and spilled into the tributaries that bled off Black Lake and rushed towards the ocean a million miles from where he stood…

 _Haven_ _'_ _t you wanted to tell someone?_ Cooper reasoned with himself.  _To tell someone about the way she floats into your consciousness and steals your breath and makes you itch and think about things and_ _—_

He was about to open the floodgate, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Major Briggs began to whisper...

* * *

COOPER: Diane, it's just after two p.m. We—Sheriff Truman, Deputy Hawk, Agent Bryson, and I—are about to escort Ernie Niles to the pre-arranged drug buy up at Dead Dog Farm. ( _Pause_ ) I have a bad feeling about this. Ever since Major Briggs' return last night and his emergence from catatonia this morning, my heart feels heavy. Sheriff Truman deputized me today, and it helps to have a gun back, a shield pinned to my chest to lend me gravitas and authority. But there is something inside me that isn't so sure we're wading into something against which guns and badges are a useless defence. ( _Pause_ ) Diane, Major Briggs spoke of Project Bluebook, deep space messages intercepted from their point of origin within the woods themselves. We've talked about White Lodges and Black Lodges and Dwellers on the Threshold. And now I'm not so sure about anything anymore. ( _Pause_ ) Can you courier over whatever info you can find about Project Bluebook? I want to know as much as I can about this. I  _don_ _'_ _t_ want to be blindsided…

* * *

 **Friday, March 17  
** **Afternoon**

"Do you know what you're doing?" Hawk asked the fidgeting Ernie Niles, who was already sweating profusely in Agent Bryson's car, just ahead of them on the narrow road.

"Yes," Ernie whimpered over the two-way. "Unless you want to turn around. We can still turn around. Head back for some pie! That stepdaughter of mine, doesn't she just make the best pie?"

"Ernie," Truman growled. "We have a plan and we're sticking to it. You're going to help clear the name of a federal agent. If you don't, you're going to jail with the rest of them. Is that understood?"

Radio silence stretched on for a few hundred yards. They pulled onto the even narrower road that led up the hill toward the dilapidated farm. Bare pines and brittle undergrowth alongside the road gave way to bushes and rocks as the farm came into view. The lead car pulled away, while Cooper, Hawk, and Sheriff Truman hung back, careful to stay covered. As they slowed to as top, Ernie came back on.

"Yeah, fellas. I understand."

Cooper watched as the car door opened in front of him and kept his eyes trained on Agent Bryson and Ernie as they trudged up the driveway towards the door. Hawk tuned into the concealed mic line. With bated breath, the trio hidden in the bushes by the end of the driveway waited and listened.


	8. A Conversation

* * *

 

 _Hyperhydrosis. I_ _'_ _m going to die because of Ernie Niles_ _'_ _hyperhyrdrosis._ Cooper leaned his back against the wall of the farmhouse, careful to rest against the radiator and not the section of baseboard with the rusted nail protruding from the rotten wood, as he drew his knees up and set his elbows on top. The plastic binds used to lash his wrists together cut into his flesh; he resisted the urge to move his hands too much, and had given up entirely on wrestling them free. The gash below his eye—sustained after the trade, when Sergeant King whipped the butt end of his pistol at his face to force his compliance—burned and hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to what it might feel like to be shot, again.

He tried to keep the fear from his mind, but found it a daunting task. He remembered the pain from the last time; indeed, he could still feel the twinge of pain with sudden movements, the sometimes inelegant and ungainly twists of his upper body during absent moments, from the bullet wound. He didn't relish the thought of having another bullet rip through his body, but at least he had small consolation knowing that he would likely not survive long enough to feel the pain.

 _Death_ , he thought.  _I could die here. I might die._  It was not something he wanted to give into, but he tried to allow himself the mental space to feel it and come to some kind of peace with it. He hadn't lived the life he'd wanted, not entirely; his regrets from the night of his hotel room shooting resurfaced with a vengeance, and he found himself closing his tired eyes and wishing for cool grass on a tall hill, a stack of unsolved FBI files on one side, a beautiful woman on the other…

The woman he pictured was Audrey, and that made him snap his eyes open.  _At least I got to kiss her that one last time_ , he thought, trying to remember the colour of the fabric in her suit jacket, the shape of her legs, the ebony-cast wave in her hair…

"You are a lonely man, Agent Cooper?" Renault asked him from his place at Cooper's side.

"No," Cooper replied.

Renault tapped his gun against the soft drywall. Flakes of paint flitted down, caught in the long beams from the police car headlamps as they drifted to the floor and the tops of Renault's shoe. His captor grew thoughtful. "But it must be a lonely life you lead, always here and then there, never in one place long enough to know anyone."

Cooper shrugged as best he could, stating the cold facts, emotionless. "That's not always true. I've been in Twin Peaks for nearly a month."

"Ah," Renault said. "Friendship with the Sheriff. His deputies." He flicked his shoe, dusting the paint crumbs as he did. "The Horne girl."

Cooper nodded.

The French-Canadian clucked his tongue. "When she was up at One Eyed Jack, she talk in her dream," Renault said. "' _Special Agent_ _…_ _Special Agent_ …'" the man laughed. "You are more than a friend to her."

Cooper's response was measured. "That's none of your business."

"She is a pretty girl," Renault said. "I would have liked to keep her for myself. She smell like—eh,  _comment_ _ç_ _a se dit_?  _Canelle_?"

Sergeant King wracked his brain for the English translation. "Cinnamon," he said finally.

" _Oui_ ," Renault sighed. "Cinnamon. That is the right spice? She is cinnamon spice." He again tapped his gun against the wall and peered outside the window at the rotating red-and-blue of the lights. "You know, Mr. Cooper, I should very much have liked to be with her. You know? To possess her."

Cooper closed his eyes again and tried to visualize a scenario in which he escaped unharmed, pushing all emotional thoughts to the side, but Renault's teasing was making it difficult.

"How many time did you have her?" Renault asked.

Cooper counted the space between his breaths to calm himself down.

Renault was undaunted. "I am just trying to understand what would drive a man to cross a border for a girl," he said. "But then again, as they say in the village where I am from: ' _Comme on fait son lit, on se couche._ _'_ Whom you lie with is not my concern…"

Sergeant King chuckled at the crude sexual innuendo and double speak. Cooper, on the other hand, had had enough.

"Audrey Horne was an innocent pawn in a sordid game that you are still playing," he said finally. "One you're not going to win."

Renault was silenced; Sergeant King peered up over the windowsill again and, anxious and nervous, squatted once more against the wall. A long, silent moment passed; Cooper thought he heard more cars pulling up outside. He hoped Truman had a plan.

"You are afraid to die?"

"No."

"Every man is afraid to die," Renault continued.

"I am afraid of not living," he said.

"There no difference," Renault said.

Cooper didn't respond, but instead focused his ears again on the outside noises that seemed to grow. King crept up again to peer over the windowsill.

"More deputies. Sharpshooters," he sank down. "Let's deal and let's run."

Renault took his time to reply. "Will they let us run, Agent Cooper?"

Cooper didn't need a second to deliberate. "No," he replied flatly.

"So you think they will deal?"

"No."

"What do you suggest we do?" Renault asked.

Cooper sighed. "Surrender."

Renault nodded. "Ok."

Sergeant King wheeled on his partner. "Are you crazy?"

Renault shook his head. "No. But first we-we must decide to give up quietly or to kill him."

Cooper replied as calmly as he could, his voice even. "Then we both die."

"I know," Renault fired back.

Incredulous, Cooper turned his face toward Renault. "Is my death so important to you?"

"My two brothers die," he said. "I hold you responsible."

"Why?"

"Why?" Renault parroted. He knelt down, his face level with Cooper's. "Before you came here, Twin Peak was a simple place. My brothers deal dope to the teenagers and the truck drivers. One Eyed Jack welcomed the businessman and the tourist. Quiet people lived a quiet life." He paused. "Then—a pretty girl die, and you arrive, and everything change."

Cooper's ears perked up.

"My brother Bernardo: shot, and left to die in the woods," Renault continued. "A grieving father smother my remaining brother with, ah...the pillow. Kidnapping...death...suddenly, ah, the quiet people, they're quiet no more. Suddenly the simple dream become the nightmare."

Cooper forced himself to move past the guilt he suddenly felt, the same guilt he'd carried for so many years, whenever disaster followed him. His hands ached and his back was sore; he said nothing.

"So," Renault finished. "If you die, maybe you will be the last to die. Maybe you brought the nightmare with you. And, maybe, the nightmare will  _die_  with you."

It was suddenly clear to Cooper that death might be a welcome reprieve from the life he'd been living, and all the pain he'd been causing those around him. He flashed back to moments in his childhood—the death of his mother, of Caroline, of his long-ago friend Marie, all moments of intense grief and sadness and anger but also disillusionment—as he'd done so many times before, but was still faced with no answers as to how he could have fixed things, how he might have made things better by doing something differently. For the first time, he wondered how his presence in this lifetime could be a good thing at all to anyone; he couldn't remember saving a life, only others losing theirs. Had he ever made anyone's existence better by simply _being_?

Cooper hung his head and absorbed the feeling. If it was his fate to lose his life in that farmhouse, he would do his best to embrace it.

It was Sergeant King who spoke next, but Cooper wasn't listening. He watched the man leap into action, peering over the window ledge, only for his eyes to widen. "Jean," he said. "Take a look at this. You order any food?"

"No!" Renault answered, and suddenly his captors were moving, positioning themselves at the doorway, hands at the ready on the handles of their guns.

"No, no no no," Renault said. "Let her come…let her come. It's just a girl."

Cooper's mind flashed.  _Who could it be?_ he wondered.  _Lucy? Please not Audrey_ _…_ _oh, God, please let it be anyone but Audrey_ _…_

He saw a shadow cross the doorframe and the inset window, and in an instant he knew it was Denise: dressed as a Double R waitress, carrying a tray of pies.

"Hello," Renault said as he opened the door.

"Suppertime," Denise purred, and as Renault grabbed the tray and Denise lifted the hem of her skirt, Cooper knew what he had to do. In a blur of movement, he grabbed the gun from the hidden holster and aimed it at Renault, levelling it as best he could with his bound hands and firing into the darkness of the farmhouse as Renault dashed off behind a wall.

When it was over, Sergeant King was handcuffed against the wall with varsity wide receiver Agent Bryson's knee in the small of his back. Jean Renault was dead.


	9. Early Morning Revelations

* * *

 

**Early morning**

COOPER: ( _Weakly_ ) Diane, you'll forgive me for the quality of my report. I have had a…most gruelling day. ( _Pause_ ) The deal at Dead Dog Farm did not go as planned. ( _Cough_ ) I...offered myself as hostage in exchange for Agent Bryson and Mr. Niles once they were discovered, and what followed was a difficult afternoon in the forced company of a madman. Jean Renault was singular in his pursuit of me. He blamed me for the loss of his brothers, for the collapse of his holdings at One Eyed Jack's, and for the dissolution of his drug ring in the town. These are accusations I can take in stride, but it was far more insidious to hear him tell of the nightmare that followed me here. ( _Pause_ ) Insidious, Diane, because they're just words, but if he only knew how I felt about the cloud above my head...maybe he's right to think that the nightmare could die with me. It is not the first time such things have crossed my mind…( _Another, long paus_ e _; continuing softly at first_ ) Now we are left with the fallout—Renault is dead, his accomplice is in custody, Agent Bryson is gone, and while all this was happening, Windom Earle was taking a victim. ( _Almost a whisper_ ) The first pawn has been taken from the board, Diane. How many more will die before I can end this? ( _Clears throat;_ _a knock at the door_ ) Break's over. My suspension still stands, but having been deputized, I am under Sheriff Truman's orders, and we've bagged another case. So, for now, this is Deputy Dale Cooper signing off from one very long day…

* * *

Cooper trod the few steps between his chair and the door and swung it open on its creaking metal hinges to reveal the last person in the world he was expecting to see.

"Audrey!"

She stepped forward, reaching a hand to the side of his face and the spot below his eye where he'd been struck. Cooper had forgotten it was there, but the moment Audrey touched her fingertips to the tender spot, he winced, and her eyes welled up with tears.

"I heard someone at the concierge desk saying…," she trailed off.

"What are you doing here?"

She was shaking. "I came down as soon as I could. I needed to see for myself. I needed to see...to know...for myself...that you were...that you were…"

Cooper managed a small, sad smile. When she'd given him the photographs, he'd chalked it up to residual feelings. He'd been glad to see her, intrigued by her presence, but encouraged by the fact that she was there at all. It meant maybe they could move past the unpleasantness of their separation, to a plateau of friendship at the very least. That maybe they could remain in each other's lives, in the smallest capacity. But now, seeing her emotion written so boldly across her face, he was hit doubly hard with the realization that her concern for him was as much as his for her.

"It's late, Audrey," he said, his mind racing—there was a dead body in the room down the hall, and a psychotic former FBI agent almost certainly on the loose nearby. "You shouldn't be here."

"Bobby drove me from the hotel."

At the sound of the younger Briggs' name, Cooper's heart leapt into his throat. When he'd said the things he'd said—about Audrey meeting a nice boy some day—he certainly hadn't expected her to take him so literally, so soon. Now, he fought to hide his jealousy. "Bobby?"

Audrey ignored his question. "Agent Cooper, are you okay?"

He tried to nod, but his head shook instead. "Audrey, I don't—"

She stepped forward and gently pitched her arms around his neck, stepping against his body, clutching him with an intensity that frightened him. He had to bend to accommodate her, reaching to circle her waist, and as he pulled her close, he began to panic over the thought that he'd been so close to never feeling  _this_ again. It filled him with wonder, but also with fear; he  _was_  too close to her, and this was proof.

But in that moment, holding her her firm against him—running his hands down her back, as much to soothe her as to intake as much tactile sensations as he could before she ripped herself away from him—he relished the feeling that the love of a good woman had brought to him.

"Here," she whispered, pulling away and taking him by the hand as she led him to a chair at the end of the conference room table, which he gladly took while she pulled out the first aid kit sitting on a long low shelf nearby. With nimble fingers, she pressed peroxide-dampened cotton balls to his wound; she was careful to ease up whenever it hurt, though he tried his best not to let it show.

"If I hadn't given you those pictures…"

"That was the biggest favour anyone could have done for me," Cooper said.

"You could have  _died_."

"But I didn't."

She blew on his skin, drying the peroxide, and he smelled peppermint chewing gum on her breath. Her shaking hands searched for bandages, but she drew them away, finding none. Cooper reached over and place his hand over hers.

"Audrey."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"It's just when I heard…I couldn't get here fast enough."

"Why did you come?"

She seemed at a loss. Her hands stilled and she drew a deliberate, deep breath. He could tell he'd upset her. "Because I—I care...about you," she said. "Even if you don't feel the same way about me."

"I do feel the same," Cooper told her.

Audrey began to rummage through the kit again, looking for ointment.

"Audrey, did you hear me?"

"You should see a doctor as soon you have time. I didn't do a very good job."

"Audrey."

She shut up the first aid kit. Cooper reached out to stop her hands again. He wanted to shake her, to spell out all the reasons why she was so wrong in her assessment of the situation, that his distance from her—professional and measured—was not an indictment or representative of anything other than his desire to save her from the very nightmare Jean Renault had been so eager to destroy only hours before. But he sat, dumbstruck, as she smoothed her hands over her thighs and took even, practiced breaths.

"Agent Cooper," she said, "I just had to see, with my own eyes, that you were okay."

She bent to kiss him, gently, on the cheek as the door to the room opened wide and Truman walked in. She pulled away suddenly, hurrying from the room; Cooper let his fingers linger on the spot where her lips had been.

"Coop?" Harry asked.

Cooper shook his head slowly. He knew he wouldn't sleep; not after that. He turned to face his fried. "Harry, I think I've made a huge mistake."

Truman cast a halfway glance at the door Audrey had blazed through seconds before. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Cooper nodded solemnly. "I think we'll need a pot of coffee first…"

* * *

**A short time later...**

Truman leaned back in his chair and studied the desk top for a long moment. Finally, he sat up again, splaying his hands over the surface, across the papers scattered there, and nodded his head. "That's quite the predicament you've got there, Coop."

Cooper nodded and sighed. "Harry, I'm not the kind of person who enters into a situation without figuring out an exit strategy, but this happened so fast."

Truman seemed sympathetic. "I'm not one to give love advice—"

Cooper held up a hand. "And I'm not looking for it."

"But it sure is a humdinger..."

"Legally?" Cooper ventured.

Truman shook his head. "She's an adult, well past the age of consent. Unless  _you're_  a sixteen year old Boy Scout and never told me..."

Cooper chuckled. "I can assure you that's not the case."

Truman smiled and thumbed the edge of his coffee cup. "Does the FBI have any sort of policy about—"

Cooper shook his head. "No. It's a bit ambiguous, because she was never directly involved in an FBI case, but...personally, I feel—" he sighed. "I don't know how I feel." He took a deep breath and leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees. "'Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.'"

"Shakespeare."

Cooper scrubbed a hand over the well-past-five-o-clock shadow on his jaw. "It's that last one I seem to be having the most trouble with. 'Do wrong to none.'"

Truman disagreed. "That's a load of baloney, Coop, and you know it."

Renault's words— _Maybe you brought the nightmare with you..._ —drifted through Cooper's open mind.  _How can I do harm to none if I'm followed by a nightmare wherever I go?_

"Have you told Audrey that you still care about her?"

He sighed. "Rejection is loud, Harry. I don't think she can hear me. Even if she wanted to."

Truman leaned forward across his desk. "She's always been an old soul, for as long as I've known her. I would think many a man would be envious of you for getting so close to her."

"She's a remarkable girl," Cooper said, his guilt rearing up as he studied the chess board in front of him. "I was her hero for a time, and she saved my life. But all I really wanted to do was be there for her. She has no one." He lifted his hands, despairing for a moment. "And now it's all this."

"I'm sorry, Coop," Truman said. "I really am."

"It's all right," Cooper said with a sad smile as he took the last pull from his mug of coffee. "I'm just glad to be able to tell someone about it."

Truman stared into his own coffee cup. "What are you gonna do about it now?"

Cooper shrugged. "Move on. As I hope she will. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

"Let's just hope none of them end up in the percolator again," Truman chuckled as he stood up. "Speaking of, would you like a refill?"

Cooper nodded. "Thanks, Harry."

As the Sheriff walked out of the room, Cooper continued to study the chess board, finding it hard to focus with the memory of Audrey's kiss still planted in his mind. The board yielded nothing but chess was never his game. It was always Earle's. And that was what filled him with dread as he tried to imagine what his next move ought to be.

Truman returned with the carafe. "So how does chess figure in to all this?"

Cooper sighed.  _That_ _'_ _s another story altogether_ _…_


	10. Notes Home

* * *

 

COOPER: Saturday. March 18th. About half past two in the afternoon. Lunch today was homemade macaroni and cheese, brought into the station by a neighbour down the road. Harry and I split a rather stale donut for dessert, but you won't hear me complaining—a stale donut is better than no donut at all. ( _Pause_ ) At this point, since my suspension is still in place, these tapes are a formality. A habit I've grown accustomed to, and which I can't bear to part with just yet. I hope you don't mind. ( _Deep sigh_ ) The vagrant killed by Windom Earle suffered the safe fate as Caroline—that much I knew the moment I saw him, but it was confirmed by the county morgue today. The position of the body in relation to the chess board was such that the meaning is absolutely crystal clear: it relates precisely to Windom's next move. It's a sick game we're playing. I need to be sharp. Sharper than sharp. It's why I need help. I must find a way to win a game against a foe I never once managed to best in all the years we played together. ( _Pause_ ) It feels a gargantuan task. And added to that is the mystery surrounding Josie and the murder of a Chinese businessman in Seattle. Harry asked me to investigate this personally. It's not an easy task, I imagine, to face the possibility that the woman you love is also a murderer. Regardless, I'll be sending you evidence as I collect it. Please see to it that Albert and his crew get it. I don't need to tell you the ramifications were I to get caught using Bureau resources to investigate a murder possibly committed by the girlfriend of a dear personal friend, all while still under a suspension from that self-same Bureau…if this is too much to ask of you, I will understand. ( _Pause_ ) Major Briggs has confessed to us his doubts about the sincerity and moral righteousness of his Air Force compatriots in their search for the White Lodge. He suspects they may have ulterior motives. I am eagerly awaiting the Project Bluebook materials you have compiled for me. This mystery—like all others in this town—seems to be bottomless. ( _Pause_ ) I have also seen Audrey for what I feel might be the last time in a long while. Her hurt and disillusionment with me knows no bounds. If only she could understand…this is the best way I know of to keep her safe…

* * *

COOPER: Diane, it's not quite midnight on Sunday; I'm heading back to the Great Northern for some sorely missed mattress time—and I don't mean that in the purple sense, so get your mind out of the gutter. I have been subsisting on cat naps and shut eye taken wherever there's a horizontal surface on which to rest my head. I desperately need a shower, a shave, and though I imagine I will sleep fitfully, it will be nice to be "home," so to speak, to do it. ( _Deep breath_ ) Today was eventful, as all our days have been lately. Leo Johnson is missing, having awoken from his catatonic state before trying to murder his wife Shelly with an axe. Her lover, Bobby Briggs, insists that Hank Jennings was the one who shot Leo, which brings up questions about parole violations. I'm sure it won't be long before Hank is back behind bars. ( _Pause_ ) On a more serious note, I won't need to be sending you any evidence collected regarding Josie Packard's case, as I gave fibres pulled from one of her coats directly to Albert for analysis—he arrived today, in one piece and bringing with him a nice fat stack of Project Bluebook materials. Thank you, Diane. ( _Pause_ ) The fibres were a perfect match. Albert is convinced Josie was the one who shot me, and is the one who shot the Asian man—Jonathan—in Seattle, and he'll be doing forensics tests on her gloves and the bullets from both crimes. Truman doesn't know any of this, and I'm afraid of how he'll take it if that's what the evidence points to. ( _Pause_ ) While I was glad to see Albert today, his presence brought with it more troubling news that sticks in the forefront of my mind: the links in the Windom Earle case to Caroline. The articles of clothing sent to police stations: all pieces of Caroline's wedding attire. The locations of those police stations: mapping out the letter 'C' on the continental United States. The fact that the vagrant's last name was Powell: that was Caroline's last name. This means Windom has put much more thought and effort into this than we would have expected from someone in his professed mental state. He clearly harbours resentment towards me for the part I played, however inadvertently, in Caroline's death. That kind of madness doesn't just go away. I fear this will be a long fight…( _Pause_ ) We have enlisted Pete's help to see this chess game through to its conclusion. One thing Windom always used to say was that any game's conclusion is foregone the moment the first piece is moved on the board. You know how I feel about fate, Diane. I'm hoping that the outcome of this match is favourable to us and that if it's not...well, that there's still time to make it right.

* * *

COOPER: As predicted, I have been unable to find the repose my body craves, but not for the reasons you might believe. Diane, Windom Earle was in my room tonight. ( _Softly_ ) He left Caroline's death mask on my pillow, along with another cassette. I'm shaken to the core, Diane. I don't know if I will—or even if I  _can_ —get any sleep tonight.

* * *

COOPER: Diane, Josie Packard is dead. Possibly from fear. And while I am absolutely certain that she tried to take my life, I feel both sadness and even sympathy at the loss of hers. Sheriff Truman is suffering terribly as a result. ( _Pause_ ) When Josie died, I saw a vision: BOB, and the midget from my dream. Windom Earle...BOB...the midget...is there a connection, Diane? Do these events foretell BOB's return? I hope not...for all our sakes. ( _Pause_ ) Harry, as I mentioned, is beside himself. I know only too well what he is going through. Caroline has been on my thoughts often over the course of these last few days, and now even more so as I watch Harry go through what he's going through. ( _Sigh_ ) I suppose now would be the time to bring you up to speed on the other recent developments in town: Nadine Hurley persists in the belief that she is a high school senior, and has fallen in love with Mike Nelson, football star and All-American poster boy. Word has it that Bobby Briggs is shacked up with Shelly the waitress. At the same time, Shelly's husband, Leo, is still somewhere in the woods. Ben Horne has suddenly become an environmentalist, and enlisted the aid of one John Justice Wheeler to help him save the pine weasel. ( _Chuckle, then a pause_ ) Meanwhile, Pete Martell and I continue formulating a stalemate game. I can only wait for Earle's next move…

 


	11. Nice Day for a Picnic

* * *

 

 **Tuesday, March 21**   
**Morning**

"Harry's about to hit bottom"

Cooper looked up at Hawk from the folder in front of him, concern in his eyes. "Is he eating?"

Hawk shook his head slowly, and Cooper exhaled a deep sigh as he set Josie's INTERPOL dossier down on the mountains of paperwork in front of him on the desk. "When do you think he'll come back to work?" he asked.

"I guess we'll find out soon," Hawk replied. He glanced over the desk. "Need a hand?"

"That's a question I should be asking you," Cooper shot back, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

Hawk smiled gently, but was deferential in his response. "You're the senior lawman, Cooper. Let's just let the rain fall as it has been." He shook his head. "Besides: I hate paperwork."

Cooper understood all too well. "This is worse than the Bureau with all this international documentation," he said, wearily. "Eckardt, Josie…" he reached into the pile for another folder. "This is the autopsy on her. Doc Hayward said he couldn't determine cause of death. The body only weighed sixty-five pounds."

He handed the folder to Hawk, who stopped cold before accepting it. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Cooper said. "Maybe it has something to do with what I saw in the room when she died."

"Maybe we'd better just whistle on our way past the graveyard."

Cooper reached for his coffee again. "Yeah."

"Anything on Earle?" Hawk asked, eager to change the subject.

"Trail's stone cold," Cooper said with a shake of his head. "Still waiting for his response."

Hawk nodded but was quiet for a long moment before asking his next, and final question. "When was the last time you saw your bed?"

Out of habit, Cooper glanced at his watch, only to realize that he couldn't rightly remember.

"That long?" Hawk intoned.

Cooper leaned back and smiled. "I'll manage. Lucy's been making double brews, and once I eat a little breakfast—"

"Go home, Cooper," Hawk said, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the guest chair. "We've got it from here."

If he was being honest with himself, he knew he could use the sleep. He was running on vapours, and it was starting to get difficult to read. He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the desk before grabbing the files he'd been scouring when Hawk had entered the room. "I would like to stop in and see Harry."

"Good," Hawk said. "On your way to the hotel."

He practically pushed Cooper out the door, and no one gave him any grief as he strolled out of the station and to his car, which he drove—carefully, slowly—up the road to the Bookhouse.

* * *

His visit with Truman lasted all of five minutes, long enough for Cooper to leave Josie's dossier on a table before being tossed out by the grieving sheriff. He didn't take it personally, or think anything of it. His mind was trained on his shower, his bed, and a fresh change of clothes waiting for him in his room. The thought pacified him, refreshed him, and as he pushed open the doors to the lobby, he felt his drowsiness pulling on his eyelids with languid laziness…

"Agent Cooper?"

He snapped his eyes open at the sound of Audrey's voice, and saw her standing in front of him, arms laden with all the trappings of an outdoor picnic lunch. For a startling moment, he wondered if she had seen him coming, had been waiting for him, and that the picnic was for him. But his sleepy mind had planted that suggestion; when he truly registered the look of shock on her face, he knew he couldn't have been more wrong.

"Audrey."

"You look—"

"Terrible, I know," he ran a hand through his hair. "It's been non-stop since—gosh, since I don't know when."

She looked at him intently. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Did you get your eye looked at?"

Cooper touched the still-tender spot below his left eye. "Oh, I had Doc Hayward take a look," he lied.

She smiled slightly, averting her eyes. "Maybe it will turn into a scar," she offered. "Girls like scars, y'know."

"Do they?" Cooper asked softly.

"Mm-hmm," she said, hoisting the wicker picnic basket into her arms, awkwardly balancing the blanket on top.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

Audrey shook her head, and glanced behind her, "No, I think I should be fine."

Cooper looked over her shoulder, and suddenly saw the hulking cowboy silhouette of a man he'd never seen before. He looked at the man—who was beaming, obviously, at the woman standing between them—and then back into Audrey's eyes, and the rest was obvious.

"Have we met?" the man drawled. He stretched his hand out. "John Justice Wheeler. Most people call me Jack."

Cooper reached out, slowly, to take his hand. "Dale Cooper," he said. "Sheriff's Deputy."

Wheeler nodded, and then smiled. "Aren't you the FBI Agent?"

"Currently on suspension," he said, glancing once more at Audrey. "It's a long story."

The cowboy tipped the brim of his hat up with his thumb. "Well, regardless of where your authority comes from, any lawman is a good man, and a friend of mine."

He watched as Wheeler took the basket from Audrey's arms. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she repositioned the blanket, but she narrowly avoided eye contact. To call it awkward would have been an understatement.

Cooper decided to be the bigger person. Summoning the last dregs of his alertness and awareness of social niceties, he smiled. "It's a beautiful day for a picnic."

"Quite," Wheeler said. "This is magical country up here."

"It is," Cooper replied.

Wheeler looked to Audrey and then back to Cooper. "You're…welcome to join us, if you want."

Audrey shifted uncomfortably, and Cooper had reached the end of his tether. He bowed out graciously. "No, but thank you. I've been burning what feels like six candles at all ends, and I'm in desperate need of a recuperative afternoon. Alone," he said, shrugging. "Besides which, days like today are set aside for youth."

Wheeler grinned. "Well then," he said.

"Enjoy," Cooper replied as he stepped out of the triangle. "Nice to see you again, Miss Horne."

She snapped her head up at his sudden formality, and as John Justice Wheeler walked away, with her slowly following suit, she kept her eyes on Cooper. She said nothing.

Cooper rode the elevator to his floor in silence; he trod the well-worn carpet between the elevator door and his own in silence; he undressed in silence and showered in silence and pulled the drapes closed and turned down his bed in silence. Only when he picked up the phone to schedule a wake-up from the front desk—he gave himself four hours, which would leave him just enough time to get back to the station for his afternoon meeting with Pete Martell and his next chess lesson—did he break the impenetrable quiet he'd slipped into. The sound of his own voice startled him.

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but for the first time in so many nights, he didn't dream of her.


	12. Moving On

* * *

 

COOPER: Diane, it's nearing midnight. I'm retiring early because I've essentially been ordered to take it easy. But I have finished most of what I set out to do today, despite a three-and-three-quarter hour cat nap and an impromptu visit from Major Briggs and Mrs. Lanterman earlier this evening. ( _Pause_ ) Ours was a curious meeting, Diane. When Major Briggs returned from his disappearance, he was sporting what looked like a burn or a tattoo: three equilateral triangles arranged in formation, located behind his ear. Mrs. Lanterman also disappeared for a time when she was just a girl and when she returned, she also had markings branded on her body, this time the mirror images of two mountains on the back of her leg. What these two shapes signify is anyone's guess, but more important are the strange circumstances surrounding each event: Both Major Briggs and Mrs. Lanterman witnessed a flash of bright light and heard the screech of an owl right before they vanished. I, too, experienced the same phenomena. ( _Pause_ ) Was I meant to see that? What is the significance of these coincidental events? Are the simply coincidences or is there a deeper meaning here? ( _Pause_ ) In happier news, Sheriff Truman has turned a corner. It took an assault by a strange woman to bring him out of it. But that's another story for another tape. ( _Sigh_ ) Harry is hurting deeply, and I don't blame him. No one does. But we're all happy and hopeful about his recovery. I believe he is sleeping off his drunkenness as we speak, and I anticipate he'll be fine—if a little sore—in the morning. ( _Pause_ ) That leaves me with the final bit of information for you. In my last tape, I mentioned the arrival in town of Ben Horne's new business partner. Well, Diane, I was made aware today that this man—John Justice Wheeler, or Jack to his friends—has set his sights on Audrey, and—( _Pause; deep breath_ ) I am nowhere near sure how to react to the news that she has moved on so quickly from what I thought was something quite deep and profound between us. My feelings are a mystery. But then so are women, and Audrey no less than any other. But I can say that the pit in my stomach that formed when I saw the two of them embarking on a picnic excursion together earlier today has not gone away or even lessened since that time. ( _Long pause_ ) I can scarcely believe that I could be capable of such heartache after such a short interlude, and yet that is the closest approximation that makes any sense to me at the moment. This is a tough one, Diane. ( _Pause_ ) But, on to other things. Did you know that Norma Jennings has a sister? A young woman named Annie. She's the newest waitress over at the Double R. A nice enough girl, but—like everyone else in this town—I have the distinct impression that she is, as they say, filled with secrets...

* * *

**Wednesday, March 22**

**Afternoon**

Coop looked down again at the doodle he'd drawn in front of him, then back at the retreating figure of Annie Blackburn, who had lit a lightbulb in his head. "Harry," he said finally. "I've got to see this Owl Cave…"

Truman nodded. "Just say the word."

Cooper glanced back at the napkin once last time and then back up at the counter, grabbing Shelly's attention with a wave of his hand. "Can we get ours to go?"

FBI Regional Bureau Chief Gordon Cole spun around on his counter stool. "WHAT'S UP, COOP?"

"FINISH YOUR PIE, GORDON," Cooper shouted back. "WE'RE ROLLING OUT."

Truman winced and stood up, still a bit wobbly on his hungover legs but with a pressing need to get away from the shouting that seemed to ricochet through his cranium like ice in a hiball glass. "I'll radio the station," he said. "Get Hawk and Andy down to meet us."

Cooper gave a curt nod. "Good thinking, Harry."

Agent Cole pried himself away from the counter and stood at Cooper's side. "WHERE'RE WE OFF TO?"

"OWL CAVE," Cooper offered.

"CAVE?" Gordon asked. "COOP, ARE YOU GOING SPELUNKING?"

Cooper paused to consider for a moment before smiling. "Well, I suppose we are."

"WHAT'S THAT?"

Cooper held up his hand. "NOTHING, GORDON," he said.

Cole flashed an 'Ok' sign with his fingers. "OKIE-DOKIE," he said. "I THINK I'M GOING TO SKIP THIS ONE, IF IT'S ALL THE SAME TO YOU. DO YOU KNOW IF THERE'S A DOCTOR IN TOWN WHO CAN TAKE A LOOK-SEE AT MY EARS?"

Puzzled, Cooper nodded his head. "DOC HAYWARD."

"HAYWARD?"

"ONE AND THE SAME."

Cole turned to look at Shelly. "I CAN HEAR HER, COOP. CLEAR AS DAY."

Cooper smiled. "Congratulations, Gordon."

"NO, I HAD THE PIE."

Cooper shook his head, bemused, and flashed a thumbs up. "SEE YOU LATER, GORDON."

As they parted ways, Annie rounded the countertop, two carry out boxes in her hands, balancing two cups of coffee on top. "Agent Cooper—"

Cooper grinned, throwing his coat over his arm as he reached into his pocket for his wallet. "Annie, you're a gem. How much do I owe you?"

She blushed. "An even six," she said. "Coffee's on me."

Taken aback by such a generous gesture, Cooper's voice hushed in awe. "Well, thank you Annie." He took the food and drink from her hands.

"See you around?" she asked.

"You can count on it."

"All right then," she lowered her head. "Bye."

"Bye," he said to her back as she walked toward the counter again. He waved to Cole and Shelly and then, with one last look in Annie's direction, he turned and walked out into the misty street beyond the front door.

Truman had already started the truck. As Cooper climbed in, he handed the sheriff containers and coffees.

"Harry," he said as he shut the cabin door. "What can you tell me about Annie Blackburn?"

Truman threw the gear shift in reverse and pulled out of the parking stall. "Not much to tell. She's a sweet kid—grew up here. I've known her since she was a toddler. Kept to herself as long as I've known her, and lived here right up until she didn't…"

"Where did she go?" Cooper asked.

Truman merged onto the road. "She was up at a convent, if you can believe that. Just got back into town a few days ago," Truman said, casting a sideways glance at Cooper. "Hey Coop, lemme ask you a question: why the sudden interest in Norma's kid sister?"

Cooper shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "She just…strikes me as an interesting person."

The sheriff seemed skeptical. "She's a nice girl, I'll give her that…but interesting?" he shook his head. "Shelly is interesting. The Log Lady is interesting. Audrey is—"

Cooper snapped to attention, and Truman shrugged.

"Well, Audrey is something else," the sheriff finally said.

Cooper nodded and glanced at an errant thumbnail, its edge split and frayed. "Audrey is  _with_ someone else," he said.

"Who?" Truman asked.

Cooper leaned back against his seat. "John Justice Wheeler," he said, taking a sip from the paper coffee cup.

Truman nodded. "Friend of Ben's."

"Yup."

The sheriff sighed. "Well, Coop, all I can say about that is: when you find love, no matter where it is or who it is or what the circumstances are, you've got to hold onto it," he said. "Because you hope it will last forever, but you never know for sure if it will."

Cooper turned to Truman, his loss still etched on his face. This was experience talking, no question about it.

"Who said anything about love?" Cooper asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Truman side-eyed his friend, and it was enough of an answer. But at the same time, Cooper couldn't sure who, exactly, Truman was talking about—Annie the waitress and recovering nun, or Audrey?

As they pulled into the station a short time later, Cooper realized even he didn't know for sure anymore…


	13. Women Who Drink Rum

* * *

 

**That Evening…**

Cooper's fatigue lived in his limbs, had claimed squatter's rights in his femurs and deltoids and the soles of his feet and the space surrounding both Broca's and Wernicke's areas in his midbrain to the point where he wasn't certain he would be able to recite his own name and job description if he were asked, point-blank, to do so.

And yet there he was, sitting at the bar in the Great Northern, staring a hole in the coaster where Annie's drink had been sitting up until the moment the barman took it away, which was precisely three minutes after Annie had gotten up to leave.  _That_ was ten minutes earlier. Cooper had barely moved an inch since.

 _Annie_ , Cooper thought with a sad shake of his head. They had connected on a level he never would have imagined for someone he had known for such a short time. The sadness behind her eyes, coupled with the timid awe with which she took in the world around her, marked her as different than the others. Cooper had been surprised to learn that she had spent any time in Twin Peaks at all as a girl; she didn't feel like a part of the town's fabric, wasn't woven into its tapestry, the way everyone else seemed to be.

He was lying to himself if he pretended he wasn't interested in her; he was, and very much so. Regardless of what Truman said, Cooper was more than intrigued. He thought she was very pretty; plain, but still pretty, in a way that was as unassuming as her personality. He liked that she was a good height, not ungainly but not too short either. She wasn't vain, with her kinked curls never styled to within an inch of their lives, always dressed in clothing she felt—perhaps intuitively—were appropriate without concern for what was trendy or highly fashionable. Classic and softly comfortable, in colours not out-of-place in a beautiful set of under-utilized oil pastels on a shelf in an art studio.

Beyond the physical, she was charming and well-mannered without being cloying or presenting that facade of niceness that plagued so many people who try too hard to be something they're not. Annie was the real deal. She was caring and sweet, with a gentle soul. Cooper thought a career path as a teacher in a preschool or with the Humane Society would be more than fitting for her, and he could easily imagine her surrounded by children and small animals; the image pleased him immensely. He felt protective of her because of her naiveté, her child-like wonder. He was drawn to that, piqued and enthralled by it.

But if he was being honest he would have to admit to himself that he was troubled, too, by the pain in her past that the scars on her wrists attested to. What darkness could drive someone of such light to commit violence of that magnitude against oneself?

Of course, he knew the answer to that question…

With a deep sigh, was about ready to give in and head up to bed when the  _click-click-click_ of heels on hardwood drew his attention to the door. Standing there, in large-print houndstooth, suitcase in hand, Audrey was scanning the bar.

She cast her eyes in a wide sweeping arc about the room; clearly, she was looking for someone she wasn't able to find. Her shoulders signalled her deflation, and in the space and time it took for Audrey to heave her suitcase from one hand to the other and brush an errant strand of ebony hair back behind her ear, Cooper felt both compelled to leave and strangely rooted to his chair, torn between not wanting to speak to her and desperately craving her attention, her eyes on him. He planned an escape route that would take him to the lobby without being seen while simultaneously counting the steps it would take for her to cross the worn wooden floor and reach his side.

He took too long in his considerations, and when she saw him, even though he was clearly not who she was looking for, she managed a half-smile and made her way over to the bar.

"Good evening," she said as she neared his stool.

"Evening," he croaked. He smiled, looking down at her luggage. "Going somewhere?"

She glanced at her suitcase and rolled her eyes, repositioning it in front of her, holding the handle with both hands. "Seattle," she replied. "I should be there by now, but I cashed in the ticket Daddy bought and got a seat on the red-eye instead." She blushed suddenly. "Thought I'd save some money and get in a few extra errands before I left."

"When's your flight?" Cooper asked.

"Just after midnight," Audrey replied, glancing at the clock above the bar and then back at him. "How's your eye?"

Cooper's instincts lifted his hand to his cheekbone, where he felt the tiny mark left from the hostage situation a few days earlier. "Nearly healed," he said.

She nodded, and their silence stretched on, far longer than was comfortable. Audrey's awkwardness was amplified by the child-like way she swung the bag in front of her, side to side; Cooper cleared his throat, and she looked up at him.

"Would you like to sit down?"

Cooper gestured to the chair recently vacated by Annie, and watched as Audrey considered his invitation. Finally she nodded, setting her suitcase on the ground and scooting herself up onto the seat, swivelling to face the bar. She rested one leg on the footrest and crossed her other leg over, ankle and foot bouncing in the air as she got comfortable.

"I've never been to the city before," she spoke reverently, staring at the bottles lining the glass shelves behind the bar. "I've never been to  _any_  city before."

"That so?" Cooper replied.

Audrey  _mm-hmmd_  and swivelled in her chair a bit. "Shirley Temples don't have any alcohol in them, right?" she asked.

Cooper shook his head. "I don't think so."

She folded her hands on top of the bar and squared her shoulders to the barman who rounded the corner from the back to take her order; Cooper heard her ask for the drink, and the man set out another coaster and a cocktail napkin in front of her before leaving again to fill the order.

"Y'know," Audrey said as she re-commenced swivelling. "I read once that Shirley Temple never liked that drink even though it was invented for her. She said it was too sweet."

"No kidding."

"I'm not old enough to drink yet. Old enough to drive, old enough to vote, old enough to make love without it being considered a crime…" she didn't look at Cooper directly but he caught the flick of her eyes up and over at him in the mirror behind the bar, and his heart skipped a beat. "But I'm not old enough to drink."

Cooper counted scratches in the bar's surface beneath his weary hands.

"Thing is, I don't even know what I'd drink if I could," she continued. "Beer is too domestic, too pedestrian, you know? But wine seems too grown up. Vodka doesn't interest me, and I don't know the difference between whiskey and rye and bourbon and scotch but—"

Cooper smiled and held out his hand, counting on his fingers as he spoke. "Farmers drink rye. Cowboys drink bourbon. Lumberjacks drink whiskey. Gentlemen drink scotch."

Audrey kicked her foot, the toe of her shoe grazing the aromatic cedar that comprised the front of the bar. "Is that what you're drinking?"

He shook his head with a smile. "Canada Dry and a splash of lime juice."

She nodded and shrugged. "I think if I had to order any drink I'd probably order something with rum in it…"

Cooper remembered his conversation with Annie—the remnants of which might still be echoing down the halls of this Pacific Northwest castle perched high atop Whitetail Falls, if he listened hard enough—about her beverage choices.  _Annie likes rum, too_ , he thought, letting his mind wander to the other things these two disparate women might conceivably have in common.

His list was short. Physically, he didn't even try—short and tall, brunette and blonde, the two women were about as different as night and day. And for every personality trait he admired in Annie there was an equal, opposite trait in Audrey. Annie was guarded; Audrey was open. Annie was a mystery; Audrey was easy to understand. Annie was sweetly chaste and modest; Audrey was seductive. Annie was fearful and timid; Audrey was reckless.

They both liked rum, and they were both sad. That was about it. Sadness shaded their eyes and coloured their movements—the shallow slowness of Annie's gestures and the way she spoke, the luxurious shuffle of Audrey's gait and her soft embraces—as if they teemed with the ghosts of their former melacholy, the depressive haunting of a life's worth of indignity and misunderstanding and heartbreak and deeper, darker evils still.

Cooper recalled the mottled purple scar bisecting Annie's wrist. In an instant, his eye followed the line of Audrey's coat, from her collar to the end of her sleeve, before taking in the snow-whiteness of her clean, unsullied pulse point. Suddenly the questions on Cooper's mind changed; for a moment he no longer wondered what had driven Annie to such a place. It didn't matter. Because yes, Audrey carried her sadness in her lips and the tips of her fingers the swivelling motion of her hips on her chair or caught mid-dance. But for all her impetuous abandon and child-like naiveté, Audrey would  _never_ have done  _that._

He looked down at his hands, circled around the glass, and took three deep breaths that he directed into the very bottom corners of his lungs before each exhale. The checklist of reasons for staying the hell away from Audrey flashed through his mind, clear as day:  _She was involved in one of your cases…she could be put in danger…she looked so happy and content with Jack Wheeler's arm wrapped around her waist…_

The barman brought out Audrey's drink—a sunset in a hurricane glass, Cooper thought—and Audrey thanked him before stirring the thing a little and taking a bite from the wedge of orange sitting on the rim.

"Agent Cooper, do you know anything about poetry?"

Cooper spoke at the same time. "How was your picnic the other day?"

She chewed on the flesh of the orange, contemplative, for a long while before setting the peel down and stirring the drink, muddying the colours until it was uniform. Her shoulders sank and she collapsed inward, facing the bar now and not him as she took a sip through the straw. "It was fine," she said finally. "Quiet. Cold. The potato salad had too much onion. But it was fine."

Cooper didn't feel much like talking anymore. His fatigue once again weighed him down as it washed over him anew, the bolstering energy of Audrey's presence having disappeared the moment the spectre of her new boyfriend emerged between them. Cooper had one last gulp left in his glass and he wished it had been alcoholic as he finished it, swiping a hand across his lips and straining to not look at her too closely. Because he ached for her, deeply, and it was taking everything in him to ignore his impulses—borne, he knew, from a lack of judgement springing forth from his tired mind and its diminished capacity for critical thinking—and merely stand before her, an agent of the Bureau and a federal employee and not as a man who loved her once upon a moon-bright night…

"Audrey," Cooper shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. "It's been nice talking to you. I've had a long day and I'm dead tired, and—"

She nodded, focused on her drink. "Well, good night then, Agent Cooper."

"Goodnight, Audrey," he said, resisting the urge to correct her, remind her to call him Dale. He sighed. "Have a safe trip."

"Thanks."

She didn't look at him.

He turned and walked from the bar, wondering if she felt the same let down as he did, wondering if he'd ever talk to her again, wondering if he would be okay with this being their last conversation, but being too tired to do anything about it.


	14. Poetry Reading

* * *

 

 **Thursday March 23  
** **Morning**

 

Careful to avoid knocking more mud from his boots onto the freshly mopped floor of the Double R Diner, Cooper pulled a few bills out of his wallet and set them on the worn Formica beside the cash register before digging in his pocket for the rest of what he owed for the coffees and donuts.  _Four coffees...what is that, seventy-five cents? a dollar?...plus the donuts_ _…_ _a dozen of them, twenty five cents each_ _…_ _add in the gratuity_ _…_

He nodded to himself. Ten dollars was more than adequate. Far more than adequate, if he was being honest. But he had never been in the business of shortchanging service staff, especially not when he relied on them for the best coffee and pie he'd ever tasted. Satisfied, he stood there, waiting patiently for Annie to bring out his order. Bobby Briggs walked out from the other side of the lunch counter, talking to Shelly, and Cooper deliberately tuned them out; an argument between two people was not something he wanted to accidentally eavesdrop on. He focused instead on the coins, the bills, the rhythmic hum of the coffee machine, the loud oscillations of a fan blowing into the kitchen on the short order cook standing behind the order window.

He thought about Annie, and a genuine smile crossed his face. He was already looking forward to their nature study and had a half dozen places in mind—Whitetail Falls to observe the mosses and ferns that had miraculously managed to root themselves in the rocky terrain; Gazebo Park to watch the family of Canada geese that had begun nesting near the gazebo in Upper Twin Park; maybe a boat ride on the lake to really enjoy the warm promise of spring that lingered in the air, even now, despite the morning chill that lingered and pushed itself a little too close to the noon hour for anyone's liking.

Shelly sighed and Cooper hesitated before deciding not to acknowledge it; he knew attention-seeking when he heard it. She pushed a few buttons on the till, murmuring to herself.

"What is all this sweet work worth if thou kiss not me…"

Suddenly Cooper's head snapped up. He studied the petite waitress facing him, her eyes cast down at the cash drawer.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

Her eyes shot up to meet his, but her surprise at being overheard turned quickly to nonchalance. "Oh, it was just an anonymous poem someone sent me," she told him.

Cooper felt his stomach drop. "Shelly, I need to see this poem immediately."

A look of confusion crossed her face, but she agreed, reaching under the counter for her purse and pulling a folded scrap of paper out from within the bag.

"It was in three pieces," she said, handing him her third. "We each got a piece: Donna, Audrey, and me."

Cooper took the paper in his hands and unfolded it, his eyes poring over the uneven writing, scrawled in heavy pencil, and the truncated lines filling the page. He could fill the missing words in without thinking. He knew it by heart, had known it for years. Instantly, he was gutted.

"I need to keep this."

Shelly smiled. "Okay."

"Thank you."

He pocketed the paper as Annie rounded the counter and brought him the box of donuts and the coffees. She recited the order back to him, but he was distant, hearing her voice as if through water.

With barely any acknowledgement, he turned and made his way to the door.

"Agent Cooper?"

He spun again to look at Annie. "Yes?"

"Um…this afternoon?" she asked.

He had forgotten entirely. He tried to push his concerns away as he spoke—"I'll meet you right here, four o'clock sharp."—but it was for naught. As he pushed his way through the door and out into the bright and brisk mid-morning mountain air, he was clouded as ever.

Sheriff Truman, leaning against the hood of the Jeep, pounced on the coffee. "Thanks, Coop."

Cooper stared at a spot two feet in front of him, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to process what had happened.

"Sure," he muttered.

* * *

 

**That afternoon** **…**

"It's a poem, Harry," Cooper said. He stood a few feet in front of Sheriff Truman's desk, coffee in hand, while the sheriff perused the scrap of paper. "Torn into thirds. Sent to Shelly Johnson, Audrey Horne, and Donna Hayward. From Windom Earle."

Truman's face registered the same shock that Cooper's had upon reading the poem in front of Shelly earlier that day.

"You mean Earle's contacted all three girls?"

Cooper nodded, feeling the familiar tumble in his lower stomach as he imagined Audrey receiving the poem. " _What do you know about poetry?_ _"_ she'd asked him, and he'd been so callous as to brush it off with a passive-aggressive question about her love life, something which he had no business concerning himself with anymore.

_She was trying to talk to you about this,_ Cooper realized suddenly.  _She was worried, or at least very curious, and you pushed her away yet again_ _…_

Protective instincts blazed to life within him as his guilt over her—and now Donna's and Shelly's—involvement in yet another one of his messes reached fever pitch. His hand shook and he saw red behind his eyelids.

" _See the mountains kiss high heaven, and the waves clasp one another...no sister flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother_."

Truman smiled, as if in appreciation. But Cooper shook his head: "It's a poem I once sent to Caroline. I hope it's nothing more than a taunt, Harry. Earle takes perverse pride in his ability to insinuate himself into innocent lives."

Truman needed no more convincing. "Let's talk to the girls as soon as we can. See what they remember."

_I couldn_ _'_ _t agree more_ , Cooper thought as Hawk stepped into the office and handed off Donna's copy. Audrey, it seemed was still in Seattle until the following day. Cooper pieced the papers together, and with alarming clarity, hit upon something extraordinary.

"Hawk!" he said. "Could you please bring me Leo Johnson's arrest report?"

 


	15. Intuition

* * *

**That Afternoon**

**4:34pm**

Cooper stopped rowing the boat once they'd reached about a hundred yards from the shoreline, and he let the gentle tide do the rest of the work as they glided to what he figured was pretty close to the geographical centre of the lake. He rested the oars inside the boat, careful to avoid dripping water in Annie's lap, and for a moment was distracted by the serene ripples caught in the golden glow of the still-high sun's beams.

"You're far away today," Annie said, breaking his reverie.

He sighed, smiled, and shifted his weight carefully until he was leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry, Annie. It won't happen again."

"No, that wasn't meant as a criticism!" she laughed, painfully. "I'm still far too new at the social interaction thing…I was just making an observation."

Cooper smiled. "Well, in that case."

"Is it anything I can help with?"

Cooper considered. There were so many things going on he barely knew where to begin, and none of it was particularly appropriate to share with someone like Annie anyway.  _You_ _'_ _re certainly not going to tell her that the woman you once upon a time_ _—_ _and still, probably_ _—_ _pined for is the seeming target of a madman_ _'_ _s wrath, are you?_

"My job here in Twin Peaks is exceedingly strange and perplexing at times, Annie."

She nodded. "Twin Peaks is exceedingly strange and perplexing."

"Do you think so?"

Again, Annie nodded. "It has its charms, but it can be dark too."

Cooper stared at the scar, barely visible under the cuff of Annie's sweater, and then back out onto the lake and towards the trees. Annie, too, grew quiet. They drifted like that in silence for a long while, the only sounds being the occasional duck and the constant lapping of the water at the sides of their canoe.

"I used to swim here, every summer," Annie continued. "Two or three times a week."

Cooper smiled. "Then I made a good choice," he said, once again taking in the scenery. "It's beautiful."

"I always felt closer to nature than I did to people," Annie confessed.

"Why?"

She grinned. "I never had many friends," she said. "Norma was always Miss Popularity. She was always moving toward the world, and I was always moving away from it." She paused for a moment. "I lived in my head, mostly."

"That's not a bad neighbourhood."

"There are some pretty strange neighbours," she laughed.

Cooper took a stab. "Many boyfriends?"

"No," she shook her head.

He had a hard time believing it. "Really."

Annie wavered. "Well, I had one."

"High school?"

Annie nodded. "Senior year."

Cooper pushed, gently. "Have anything to do with why you went into the convent?"

Annie bristled; Cooper saw it in the way her smile disappeared and her posture changed. He didn't regret the question, but he considered how he could have better approached it.

"I'm sorry," Annie said finally. "Do you mind if we don't talk about it?"

"Not at all," he shook his head. "We can talk about whatever you'd like."

"I want to come back to the world," she smiled. "I was so frightened for so long."

"I understand."

Annie cast a long glance over the water. "Hiding from your fear doesn't make your fear go away," she spoke.

Cooper felt the pang of his own fear, rooted in his stomach, and pushed it aside.  _Is ignoring the fear the same as hiding from it?_  he wondered as he felt a second pang, stronger than the first. He nodded at Annie, his voice softened. "It makes it stronger," he said.

"So I had to face it. I had to face myself," Annie continued. "I had to do it here where everything went so wrong."

Cooper sighed and leaned forward, taking her hands into his and gently—finally—turning her arm so the scar faced the light. He traced his finger over it, lingering on her pulse point. "Annie, I know how hopeless things can seem," he said. "I know about the dark tunnel you can fall into."

Annie took a breath. "It happened before I went away. It happened because of that boy."

It was no revelation, but it saddened Cooper all the same to hear her speak of it. "I had something similar happen to me. It made me want to disappear from the world. Because of that, maybe I can help…"

Annie took the first tentative move toward him, angling herself across the midsection of their boat to kiss him. Cooper was surprised at her eagerness—unexpected from one so recently committed to life as a nun—but even more surprising was the fact that, though he tried to, he didn't feel anything. Tenderness, compassion, yes; but fire, or longing, was missing. He pulled away wondering if she'd felt the same lack.

"I don't know you very well," she admitted.

He shook his head, perplexed and frustrated and dejected all at once. "No," came his flat reply.

Her face washed with contemplation. "I'm trying to learn how to trust my instincts."

Cooper worried, for a brief second, that he was treading once more in familiar waters, that he was leading a poor girl down a path she wasn't ready for, into dangers she couldn't possibly understand. "What do they say?" he asked, combing his hand through her hair and puzzled again at feeling nothing.

Annie sighed but nodded. "Trust," she replied.

Cooper was relieved but hesitant. She kissed him again, and it should have been romantic, but Cooper's heart felt stunted.

As if reading his thoughts, Annie pulled away and quizzed him with her eyes. "How were you hurt?" she asked.

Cooper sighed. "In love?" he asked. "I loved someone I shouldn't have." He looked down at his hands. "She was someone I should have been protecting, and I failed. She died."

If Annie was shocked or horrified, she hid it well. Instead, she watched him. "And your heart has been locked away since then?"

He shrugged. "Not exactly. There was one other. Recently. But it didn't work out."

Annie nodded. "I see."

"She, too, was involved in a case I was working on. We got closer than we should have," he scoffed. "Perhaps you see a pattern."

"You love deeply," Annie nodded. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"When the people you love get hurt…yes, there is."

She shrugged and pulled her sweater around her tightly. "I think a well-informed adult in possession of the facts of a given situation would be well within her right to decide for herself whether a risk was worth it or not."

Cooper grinned at her rebuke; it sounded so much like Audrey's. Perhaps they weren't so very different after all.

"Are you a well-informed adult?" he asked.

Annie turned to face him. "I'm not involved in one of your cases."

He nodded. "That's true."

"But even if I was…"

From faraway the sound of a loon floated down the length of the lake, and with it came a chill in the breeze. Annie shivered again, and Cooper sat up straight. "Perhaps we should head back to the dock."

She nodded, she smiled. "Good idea," she returned. "I know a place with great coffee."

Cooper flashed her a thumbs up, making her laugh as he pulled on the oars and began to row them back to the shore, thinking about their conversation and the impact a relationship with someone like Annie would have on his life. He scoured the deepest recesses of his mind, waiting for a sign from his subconscious, a signal that he was onto something.

For the first time in a long time, his intuition failed him; his mind was blank.

 


	16. Falling Into Place

* * *

 

COOPER: Thursday, March 23. 10:44 PM. Diane, the pieces of this puzzle are scattered before me like ducks on a lake. I don't know what the final picture will be, and I only have a few pieces locked in by which to move ahead. One thing is for certain: Windom Earle is ramping up. I believe he is working with Leo Johnson—who, you'll remember, has not been seen since attacking his wife in the kitchen of their home and taking off into the woods some time ago. Together, they have conspired to lure Donna Hayward, Shelly Johnson, and Audrey Horne into a web of immense danger. A web which I am not sure I can easily untangle. ( _Pause_ ) In moments like this, I'm reminded of how dear life is, and how short, how easily it is to lose sight of what is truly important to each of us as we traverse this mortal coil. ( _Pause_ ) Keeping Audrey at a distance seems to have been for naught, as it appears to even the most casual observer that she, along with Donna and Shelly, are being targeted by Earle in spite of my efforts. But why? To distract me? To render me vulnerable? ( _Long pause_ ) Andy has been hard at work deciphering the Owl Cave petroglyph, with the help of Major Briggs, who has also agreed to provide us with information about Earle's involvement in Project Bluebook. Diane, whatever Windom Earle's involvement in this, I think the lynchpin will be found in the evidence Major Briggs brings us. ( _Pause_ ) But Diane, if I can be honest with you for a moment, I'm filled with the kind of gut-wrenching fear that festers in the bottom of your soul until it consumes you utterly. ( _Yawn_ ) Ducks on a lake, Diane…I had a lovely rendezvous with Annie Blackburn today. We went boating. I never imagined it was possible to feel such romantic highs and fearful lows in the span of one six hour period, and yet here I am.  _(Another yawn)_  I don't imagine I'll find much rest tonight, but I have to give it the old college try. In the meantime, I've found space for solitude and reflection in the warmest corner of the Great Northern. I have a nightcap in my hand—well, warm milk anyway, not too hot, just the way I like it—and a crackling fire at my feet. Perhaps you can hear it burning. So I'll sign off here, for now…

* * *

Cooper took a swig from his glass as he became acutely aware of someone's presence filling the space in the empty chair beside him. He tried his best to focus on the fire, not daring to intrude.

"Love is hell."

The stranger took a sip from his highball glass, and Cooper chanced a glance; it was John Justice Wheeler, in all his dashing glory. Cooper wasn't sure what to make of this. "Sorry?" he asked.

"Love?" Wheeler shrugged. "It's hell."

Cooper tried not to be too smug about it. But the flutter of a thought settled down and took root in his heart as he considered, briefly, that perhaps there was trouble in the paradise Audrey had found with this cowboy traveler friend of her father's.

"The Hindus say love is a ladder to heaven," Cooper began, struggling to keep the haughtiness from his voice.

Wheeler considered, briefly giving over to the philosophical wisdom of the East before making a face. "But wait a minute: the Hindus are also known to take hikes on hot coals for recreational purposes."

Cooper shook his head. "Self-discipline," he corrected.

"Self-discipline and love? That's a bad match," Wheeler opined.

"Earthly love?"

"What other kind is there?"

Cooper smiled. "When you're in it, no other."

Wheeler seemed to land upon an idea; his voice caught in his throat, sounding something like pain, and Cooper—in spite of himself—related. "It hits ya like an 18-wheeler, doesn't it? And there's no relief."

"Makes you feel more alive."

"Makes you feel more of everything. Pain included."

"Especially pain."

Wheeler paused. "I can't stop thinking about her."

Cooper knew the feeling acutely. "Sounds like you've got a pretty serious case."

Wheeler sighed and cast Cooper a knowing glance. "Brother, I'm roped, tied, and branded."

Hopeful, probing, Cooper dangled his lure. "She feel the same way?"

Wheeler gulped back another mouthful.  _Bourbon. Cowboy. Figures,_ Cooper thought ruefully as the dark-eyed Lothario grinned. "Here's hoping." He knocked back another gulp from his shot glass. "How about you? Are you on the critical list too?"

"It feels like someone's taking a crowbar to my heart," Cooper said, without a word of a lie.

"That's not bad," Wheeler gaped.

"No," was Cooper's reply. "I think it's been locked away long enough."

"That's good."

"Here's hoping."

"Here's to you," Wheeler offered his glass, and Cooper reached out, clinking the edges together and taking a gulp as the bellman on duty brought over a telegram for Wheeler. Cooper politely disengaged, but was drawn back in by the muttered "Damn!" Wheeler offered next. He called the bellman back to inform him of his own intention to check out, and politely excused himself from the conversation with a firm but hurried shake of Cooper's hand.

 _Bizarre_ , Cooper thought as he took another gulp from his glass before seeing the bellman return, another slip of paper in his hand.

"Agent Cooper?"

"Yes."

"A message for you, too."

Cooper took the paper, his eyes widening as he read the lines scribbled by the concierge. He handed his half-finished glass of milk to the bellman and grabbed his coat. "Would you have the valet bring my car around to the front?" he asked.

"Sure thing," the young man replied, as Cooper nodded, smiled, and strode toward the front door.

Without a second thought, as he swung his arms through his sleeves, he grabbed his recorder.

"Diane, suspicious activity down at the gazebo. I'm on my way to meet Sheriff Truman as we speak…"

* * *

**Friday, March 24**

**Morning**

COOPER: Diane, we may have had a break in our investigation, although how much of a break is unclear at best. The Project Bluebook files that you so helpfully had delivered, along with the corresponding military records, have led to the discovery of what I believe are Windom Earle's true intentions: he's looking for The Black Lodge. Diane, I was wrong all along to believe that he was after me. It's more than that, more than about Caroline and what happened in Pittsburgh.  _(Pause)_ It's still a dangerous game, and Earle is playing off the board now. He's taken another pawn, this time without telling us his move. We need to figure out what the petroglyph means, why Earle was so interested in it, and what he means by sending those poem fragments to Shelly, Donna, and…and Audrey…

* * *

 **Later that day** **…**

Cooper stood up from the card table in the smallest interrogation room to be found in the Twin Peaks Sheriff Department, scraping his chair across the floor and signalling the end of the meeting. On his right, Donna stood up quickly and clutched her purse to her chest as she left the room. Shelly smiled at Cooper and thanked him softly before running after her.

He carefully folded the three scraps of paper and held them in his hands, and noted that they were shaking. Audrey pushed her own chair back and proceeded to the door.

"Audrey, can you wait just a minute?"

She flicked her eyebrows in mild surprise, following it with an affected sigh. "I do have a rather busy day. I've just gotten back from Seattle and—"

Cooper tried to shrug off her avoidance tactics by swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. "Audrey—the other night at the bar…?"

Audrey shrugged, but he could see her bristle against the accusation that she had hid something from him. "I didn't think anything of it. Boys send girls poems all the time in high school, you know."

Cooper nodded. "In three pieces? To three different girls? With cryptic rendezvous instructions?"

Audrey's eyes flashed. "Are you mad at me or something? I tried to tell you."

"No…no, of course not," Cooper shook his head, leaning imperceptibly closer to her, his hands on the table top. "Audrey, I—I'm very concerned."

"Why?" she challenged. "You think the only reason someone could possibly have to send me a love poem is because they want to hurt me?"

"I don't know. That's the part that worries me."

She scoffed. "I don't understand."

Cooper looked down at his hands, splayed out against the tabletop. "Audrey, I think this is the work of my former partner, Windom Earle."

Audrey's eyes widened at the mention of his name. "The crazy guy?"

Cooper nodded. "One and the same."

Audrey shivered, drawing her arms across her middle and clutching at her sweater on either side of her. "Agent Cooper, I—"

He reached over and laid a hand on her arm. "You trusted me once."

She nodded. "I do, still."

"Then you have to believe me when I say that I will not let anything happen to you," he said, pressing his hand into her arm for reassurance. "On my badge, my oath as an agent of the FBI…on my honour, Audrey, I swear to you that nothing will happen."

She nodded quickly.

Cooper ran his thumb over her arm. But his rational mind won over and he stopped just short of uttering the words that would put her in an even more awkward position than he already had. Instead, he pulled his hand back. Imperceptibly, Audrey's posture stiffened.

"Jack is a good person," she said suddenly, her voice inflected and dusted with intonations that he knew she was putting on. "Tall, dark, and handsome. Isn't that what I said I always wanted?" she smiled, but it was faraway, sad. "I-I'm falling for him." She nodded, more forcibly than she needed to, convincing herself of the veracity of her claim.

Cooper wasn't sure what to do with the information. But his heart sank as he imagined her kissing that man—or any man. Whether or not what she said was true, they were words calculated and delivered to elicit this response; that much he knew. And he didn't begrudge her for it. He'd kept her at arm's length; now it was his turn to be kept from her.

 _It_ _'_ _s your own doing,_ he scolded himself.  _You can_ _'_ _t gripe about things you created_ _…_

With a firm nod, Cooper stood up to his full height and shoved his hands into his pockets, dismissing her comment by not acknowledging it at all. "You'll check in with us at nine AM and again at nine PM?"

Audrey nodded, her head bobbing, hair swaying. She still had her arms encircling her midsection as she turned her eyes away and walked out of the room.


	17. Ruminations on a Theme

* * *

 

**That evening**

COOPER: Diane, it's a little past 6PM. Major Briggs hasn't been seen in well over six hours. I am not one prone to wild speculations based on half truths and semi-facts, but I have to wonder if the Major's disappearance is related to what we've uncovered about Windom Earle's connection to the search for the Black Lodge. _(Pause)_ Sheriff Truman has men in this and all adjoining counties on the lookout for the Major, combing the woods and the highways that cross through it. I just hope we find him before Earle does…

* * *

COOPER: Diane, 8:15. Late supper, room service—fettuccini alfredo with a delicate braised shrimp skewer, a slice of buttery garlic bread, blueberry cobbler for dessert. Aside from my unpleasant run-in with fish-filtered coffee at the Martells some time ago, I can say with all honesty that I have not had a bad culinary experience since setting foot in this town. It's remarkable, Diane. Really something.  _(Pause)_  Sheriff Truman insisted that I take a break and gave me the evening off. I have to admit that burning the candle at both ends as I have has done little except, I fear, cloud my judgement and impair my ability to think clearly, both of which are talents that I must put to better use if we are going to ever figure out the mystery of the Black Lodge and Windom Earle's connection to it.  _(Sigh)_ So, I am heading down to meet a girl about some dancing lessons…

* * *

**Saturday, March 25**

**Very early morning**

COOPER: Diane, something strange has happened tonight. It has taken me a full two hours to even begin to think about it with any kind of clarity, but I believe I have been given a message from beyond. From The Giant. What his meaning is is unclear. But I have an idea… _(Pause)_ I feel as though meditation and deep reflection will help me to understand fully what this all means. I'll inform you the moment I hit on it.

* * *

COOPER: Diane, it is a little after 6:30 in the morning. I have been meditating instead of sleeping and have just finished my first session—focused on the Giant's appearance late last night. I fear I am no closer to understanding the truth but perhaps that is the point of all this: the realization that there are some truths that are unattainable, or that there may not be a truth after all. I'm sorry that things have been rather muddy and unclear in my field reports to you. I hope breakfast—which is on its way up, courtesy of the fine Great Northern in-room dining staff—will settle my stomach. ( _Pause_ ) Also, I feel it is important to note that I am forgoing coffee today. Possibly tomorrow too. I will likely suffer withdrawal headaches, but I am prepared for it ( _Sound of a pill bottle shaking._ ) Painkillers. The maximum strength legally allowed without slipping over to narcotics, I believe. ( _Pause_ ) The reasons for my decision are multiple. I enjoy coffee, but I have to be honest: I think my caffeine consumption is more to blame for my lack of quality sleep than anything else. This is something I feel I must remedy before it gets comically out of control. ( _Sheepish_ ) Diane, I apologize in advance for any foulness of behaviour that makes its way onto these tapes. You know I mean nothing by it…

* * *

COOPER: ( _quietly; groggy_ ) It has been an hour. I am suffering from a headache of extraordinary intensity. Have already taken twice the recommended single dosage, and I fear I may likely exceed the entire daily dosage before the morning is out. Have considered calling for Doctor Hayward but I'll wait until this next wave of pain passes. ( _Pause; weakly_ ) I feel the need to lie down for a while. I'm unplugging the phone and drawing the drapes, and setting an alarm—a quiet alarm—for one hour from now…( _Sharp intake of breath_ ) Good lord... _  
_

* * *

COOPER: ( _Even more weakly)_ I believe I may be taking my very first absentee day. Please extend my deepest apologies to Gordon…

* * *

COOPER: Would it be possible, Diane, to send me a copy of the Watergate tapes? And some ginger ale. No. Yoo Hoo. I haven't had Yoo Hoo since I was a kid. ( _Pause_ ) I think I'm going to be sick...

* * *

COOPER: ( _singing_ ) "Puff the Magic Dragon lived by the sea..."

* * *

COOPER: ( _whispers_ ) I can hear voices. Diane, there are  _voices_  in the  _walls!_ And the bed posts and the floor boards and the drawer pulls...

* * *

COOPER: …This is ridiculous.

* * *

COOPER: Diane, it is 10:45 ante meridiem and I can't feel my face. It is a strange sensation, not entirely unlike being frozen at the dentist, but far more… _pleasant_. My head is filled with helium and my neck is the balloon string. If I sit still long enough I believe I will circumnavigate the globe. Or the Milky Way Galaxy. ( _Dreamily_ ) There will come a day, Diane, when the entirety of the world's information will be able to fit on a microprocessor small enough to stand on the head of a pin. Does that not boggle the mind? ( _Pause_ ) I think I like music videos now. The green ones, anyway…

* * *

COOPER: ( _Soberly_ ) I caved. Diane, I completely and utterly caved. Three hours without coffee and the rather…intense experience of nearly overdosing on over-the-counter painkillers has shown me that addictions are best weaned and not quit cold turkey. I ordered a pot of coffee and, I have to say, I feel much more like myself. This is not surprising in the least considering my previous regular intake. ( _Pause_ ) I'm not entirely sure if it's safe for me to drive, so I'm playing it safe and having Lucy bring some paperwork to me instead. I've decided that the best move for me will be to quietly consume the coffee and continue my meditative techniques in the hope that it will help…( _Softly_ ) Diane, please save this tape, or at least the last handful of entries, to play for me the next time I decide to try to relieve myself of my dependency on caffeine.

* * *

COOPER: I only drank half the pot, and sent the rest back to the kitchen. Maybe tomorrow, I'll try decaf. ( _Pause)_  Baby steps, Diane.

* * *

COOPER: Diane, it's 1:15 PM. I've just concluded my second meditation of the day in lieu of sleep. I am completely refreshed and struck again by the realization that we all live at a fraction of our potential. We've been working round the clock on the cave hieroglyph. I know the answer is in that crude etching and I am now convinced that Windom Earle is searching for the same thing we are, and for diametrically opposite reasons. If I'm correct in my assumptions about the power of that unholy place…God help us if he gets there first. ( _Pause_ ) I want to make specific mention of Annie Blackburne. Diane, she is a completely original human being. Her responses are as pure as a child's. To be honest, I haven't felt this way about anyone since Caroline. It's taken meeting someone like Annie to realize how gray my life has been since Caroline's death, how cold and solitary— _(Faint knock at the door)_ Although occasionally there is something to be said for solitude.


	18. Awkward Indiscretions

* * *

Cooper sat on the edge of the bed, staring through heavy-lidded eyes at the spot recently vacated by Annie. Absently, he picked two strands of her kinked blonde hair from the sheets and thumbed a smear of dark mascara or eyeliner near the open end of the pillowcase.  _Remnants_ , he thought, letting the golden strands fall to the floor from between his thumb and forefinger. _An afternoon's indiscretion._

It hadn't been his aim to bed the recently un-nunned Annie, but her words and her voice and the delicate slope of her jaw worked in concert to change his mind, and with surprising alacrity. He had to remind himself that she wasn't a virgin, that an ill-fated romance had led her down the path to the convent in the first place. He was not surprised that she knew what she was doing, that she seemed to enjoy it.

If only their afterglow pillow talk had remained on point.

Cooper sighed, remembering the details of their post-coital conversation, about how she got the idea to become a nun from  _The Sound of Music_  playing in the hospital where she was convalescing following her attempt on her own life. She spoke of being a lapsed Catholic, begging to be let into the care of the Sisters of Mercy convent upon her release from the hospital. She recounted conversations she'd had with the Mother Superior, about her goals and dreams outside the convent's walls and whether or not a cloistered life was the answer.

"In the end, I realized there was too much to like on the outside to shut myself away inside," she'd told him with a blush that radiated from the apples of her cheeks to the barely concealed tops of her breasts.

That was when he put his shirt back on. And within minutes, Annie was dressing too; she left with a chaste kiss to his cheek, and Cooper, through the wall of curious detachment he'd been building since he first began to move within her, let her walk through his door again.

Now, a full hour after she'd first arrived, Cooper was tired. Finally. The effects of the lack of coffee and the copious amounts of pharmaceuticals consumed had worn off, leaving fatigue in its place.  _But you can_ _'_ _t discount the effects of sexual congress,_ he chastised himself, looking once again at the pillowcase beside his.

With a deep sigh, he ran his hand back through his hair and grabbed the tape recorder, which he lifted to his lips as he pressed the Record button.

"Diane, it's 2pm. I haven't had much luck working today—too much…excitement, I think. However, the roller coaster of my emotional and mental state has left me rather mercifully exhausted. I may try to carve out some time for shut eye," he sighed. "Before I do, however, I wish to elucidate, if I may, the details of what I saw last night, of the Giant and his message, which I have been trying to work through unsuccessfully since then. I have been plagued by doubt about the very nature of what I saw, but I think it will help to talk through it, commit it to tape, and offload it from my subconscious before I rest. Perhaps then my mind will have the room it needs to figure it out."

Cooper sat on the edge of the bed, listening as the springs in the mattress groaned in deep and weary protest. He cleared his throat. "Last night, Annie Blackburn and I were dancing—she had asked me for a lesson—when I became acutely aware of the dilation and slowing of time in the room around me. This continued until time ceased to move forward—or, more correctly, everyone around me ceased to move through time. It just… _stopped._ This is not the first time a vision has appeared to me in this manner, and my conditioning was such that I was immediately primed for what was to follow." Cooper scratched his upper lip and, with his hand, swept down and across the shadow of stubble on his cheek and jaw. "My attention was then summarily drawn to the stage, where Mayor Milford was practicing his speech for the pageant. He had in this span of time metamorphosed into The Giant, whom you'll recall was a fixture of two of my last visions. Voicelessly he gesticulated at me."

Cooper took a deep breath, pulling the tape recorder away from his lips. "Diane," he started, "I am familiar with but a few hand gestures in American Sign Language, but it would not have taken fluency to understand what The Giant's message was: a warning, urging me to stop doing what I was doing." He sighed. "And what was I doing?" He paused again, longer this time. It nearly turned into a full stop; he shook his head and continued. "The moment the world was set to rights again, I kissed Annie Blackburn. Not for the first time, mind you, but now that I look back on it, I wonder if the Giant's message was a warning directed at me to cease contact with Annie. But why?"

Cooper waited for a moment before clicking off the recorder and, again, running his hand over the stubble on his chin. What more could he say anyway?

His eyelids dropped down, heavy, as he felt the pull of sleep overtake him. But the sudden knock at his door shook him violently awake. He rubbed his face again and smoothed down his shirt before standing up and padding to the door, stifling a yawn as he opened it wide.

He was half-expecting to see Annie standing there again, so his surprise was genuine when Audrey's form filled the gap between the door jambs. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed; Cooper immediately felt the FBI Agent in him rear up as he ran through a terrifying list of reasons why Audrey would be standing agitated on his doorstep.

"Audrey! What's wrong?"

She sniffled. "Consider this my check-in," she managed a half-smile.

"You're seven hours early," Cooper said, checking his watch.

"Or five hours late," she shrugged. "I didn't check in this morning. But I swear I was out with Pete Martell all night." She looked down at her hands, wringing circles around themselves in front of her. "We went night fishing."

Cooper took a long, hard look at Audrey, head to toe; it was hard to imagine the woman in front of him sitting in a boat, fishing in the middle of the night. Clad in crimson, her hair neatly pinned back at the sides, she seemed older than he might have guessed had he not known better. Still, the fresh tear tracks on her face and the way she bit her lip belied her age as well as her fear. Cooper stepped aside. "Would you like to come in?"

Audrey nodded and shushed into the room. "John Justice Wheeler left," she said.

Cooper remembered the hasty departure from the lobby one night—or was it two?—previous. He hoped his leaving wasn't why she was crying. "Did he?" Cooper asked, managing to sound both interested and unaffected at once.

She sniffled. "Before he told me all about his partner, a man he respected, and how he'd died or something. Probably murdered. And it reminded me of  _your_  partner, and then I got worried and—"

"Audrey, is everything okay?"

"I just had to see you," she said, her voice wavering even as she stood to her full height. "To make sure that you were all right. I don't know what your partner is capable of, and maybe my imagination got away from me but—"

Fear and regret clutched at Cooper's heart. "I wish I had never told you any of that."

"No!" Audrey shook her head. "You absolutely  _should_ have told me. I should have known everything, right from the start! It's the not knowing that drives me crazy. I can't act on things I don't understand," she set her lips in a firm, unbroken line. "And I can understand a lot more than you or anyone else gives me credit for."

"Audrey—"

"Agent Cooper, are you going to catch him?"

Cooper looked down at his hands for a moment before looking back up into her eyes. "I hope so, Audrey."

She nodded. "Daddy asked me to enter the pageant tonight. He thinks it will be good publicity for the Stop Ghostwood campaign," she shrugged, biting her lower lip. "Do you think that's okay? I mean, with your partner running around and the letters and all—?"

He cut her off. "You have nothing to worry about."

There was such trust in her eyes as she looked up at him, her open face revealing everything, entirely incapable of deception, her smile genuine and her relief evident. "You think so?"

Cooper nodded. "I promise."

She nodded, shutting her eyes, forcing the last remnants of a tear to squeeze through her lashes. She laughed a little and swiped it away, "Well, that's good," she said. "I know it's a big deal for the community. It seems like just about every girl in town has entered the contest. Donna and Shelly and—well, I just ran into Annie, too, getting on the elevator. I think she's entered as well and—"

Cooper could pinpoint the moment her eyes registered his partial state of undress, and his stomach pitted with guilt. Wide-eyed, as a blush crept up her throat, she turned and regarded the bed behind her, both sides of the bedspread turned down, indents on both pillows. The heat in her cheeks glowed; she stood rooted to the spot.

"Oh," Audrey mouthed, a voiceless sigh escaping her lips.

"Audrey, I—"

She shook her head and turned back to him. "No, I mean—it's fine," she laughed. "I—I mean...Me and Jack and you and—"

Audrey straightened her shoulders, her face flushed as red as her dress. She smiled, sadly, and pointed to the stack of files and folders on the table. "Looks like FBI work."

"It is," Cooper nodded.

"I should let you—"

"You can help, if you'd like."

He had no idea what possessed him to say it, but whether it was his true intention or not, he was glad to have said it. It changed the subject, gave them something else to focus on, but more than that it was the first time all day that something was happening to him that he actually  _wanted_ to happen.

Audrey seemed shocked; whether still from her earlier realization or from his offer, he didn't know. She opened her mouth to speak and for a moment nothing came out; then she lifted her hand to her chest. "You  _want_  me to help you?"

He shrugged. "I mean, if you'd like to…"

She considered, carefully—her eyes focused almost too much on the documents, stiffly avoiding the mattress-shaped elephant in the room—before nodding. "Okay."

"Aces," Cooper smiled. He walked to the desk and grabbed roughly half of the files, which he handed to her. She accepted them before sitting in the chair beside the window.

"What is it you're looking for?" she asked.

Cooper's mouth was set in a firm line. "I'm not entirely sure. You see, there's this petroglyph…"

He explained the investigation and his attempts at decoding mounds of local legends and reams of pages on symbols and signs from various sources, careful not to get carried away and reveal pertinent information but open enough that he believed she might actually have enough information to help them; a fresh set of eyes and an investigative mind.

By the end of it, Audrey seemed to have forgotten her earlier awkwardness and was ready to jump in—she had the crude facsimile of the petroglyph in one hand and a stack of symbology notes in the other—but Cooper's yawns had deepened and strengthened as his explanation rambled on, and the more he tried to hide his fatigue from her the more obvious it became.

"Agent Cooper?" she asked him. "When was the last time you slept?"

 _Decently?_ he thought.  _When was that last time you were here with me?_  Instead he shrugged. "I'll be okay. I'm actually trying to reduce my dependence on coffee and it's been a tough go, but—"

Audrey sighed and smiled as she stood up from the chair. "Come on," she said, grabbing him by the elbow and leading him around the side of the bed. "You need to rest."

Highly suggestible, Cooper sank to the bed. For a moment he was motionless; but then he kicked off his shoes and felt Audrey's small hands against his knees. He swivelled and leaned and deposited his head on the pillow. Audrey then tossed the quilt up from the foot of the bed to cover him.

"You're wonderful," he said, quietly.

Audrey had moved to the window and was drawing the curtain when his words reached her; she slowed down, considering him, as she moved to the next window nearest the bed and loosened the drapes there, casting the room in a diffuse glow that reminded Cooper of sun tea in a jar made in his backyard as a child…

"You get some sleep, Agent Cooper."

 _Oh how I wish you_ _'_ _d call me Dale again_ _…_ he thought. But he didn't say it; heavy lids and tongue and limbs rendered him sightless, voiceless, motionless. He was aware of her presence at the other side of the bed, watching him. "Thank you," he managed.

"I'll see you tonight," she said, and within moments, she had left the room.

Later on, Cooper would wonder if he'd dreamed it or if it had actually happened that Audrey's last task before retiring from sight was to flip over the second pillow beside his head, or whether she'd just smoothed out the indentation carving out its middle. All he knew for sure was that he woke up four hours later holding it, tightly to his chest, wishing it was her…

* * *

COOPER: Diane, I have to wonder if the old maxim is true, because I fear I've made more than a few wrongs and have yet to hit upon a right…( _long pause; deep sigh_ ) Maybe the Giant was right, and none of this should be happening at all. If that's the case, Diane, then I don't know how I got so far off course, without compass or sextant, adrift in the moonbeams of a starless night. ( _Sigh_ ) We're no closer to figuring out the meaning of the petroglyph. I'm heading into the station to get an update and put in a few hours. But the pageant is this evening, and I made a promise now—twice—that I would be there. And so I will be.

 


	19. Research

* * *

 

_Later that evening..._

Cooper rubbed his tired eyes as he pored over another weighty tome about symbols and the dark arts. The refreshment he felt earlier after awakening from his midday slumber was entirely negated by what had followed. Between Sheriff Truman, Andy, and himself, they had in Cooper's estimation read every page in every book in Cooper's possession, plus those of the entirety of the Twin Peaks Public Library's collection of books about the occult, twice by this point. And yet they felt no closer to figuring out the petroglyph than they were when they started.

The answer was there, locked inside the image, whatever it was. They just had to find a way to get it out...

Andy was standing in front of the chalkboard, taking small sips from a cup of coffee he poured far too long ago for it to be even lukewarm now. From the corner of the room the soft sound of a harpsichord emanated from a small radio; it had been playing when he arrived two hours earlier and had continued to play, unabated, the entire time. Cooper focused on the red light of the stereo.

"Andy?" he asked. "What is that?"

Andy turned and looked at Cooper, then followed his eye line to the stereo. "It's a CD player, Agent Cooper."

"No, I mean what's playing on it."

Andy tuned his ear to the song. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "François Couperin's Les Barricades Mystérieuses," he replied adding: "It's French."

Cooper could have figured that out from the difficulty Andy had had pronouncing the composer's name and the title of the famous baroque piece. But he knew the piece; he'd heard it before.

"I don't know what it means," Andy continued. "I keep trying to remember to ask my neighbour, Madame Fleury—she's the high school French teacher—I want to ask her to translate it, but I always forget to."

Cooper nodded. "The mysterious barricades," he said, looking down at the book in his hand and then back up to the petroglyph with a barely concealed, disbelieving snort as he pushed the book away from him with an uncharacteristically downbeat sigh. "Quite appropriate, given the mysterious quest we're on now."

"Except maybe our mystery needs more harpsichord," Andy observed as the song ended and the CD player hummed into silence on the shelf.

Cooper had to smile at that. "Andy, you never cease to amaze me."

Behind them Major Briggs let out a shivering sigh from his seat on the bench. He'd reappeared in the woods that afternoon, asking Hawk about castles and queens. Cooper had only just arrived from the hotel when Hawk had brought him in; hours later, they were no closer to figuring out his rambling gibberish than they were to the petroglyph.

"Any luck?" Truman asked.

Cooper shook his head. "Harry, I'm reading the same words over and over again and I can't make heads or tails of it."

 _Ancient astrological signs,_  Cooper thought absently as he turned back to the pages, searching for a way to make sense of the strange drawing. His eyes landed on the symbol for Jupiter, one he'd recognized it from the drawing and kept coming back to again and again in his research.  _What does Jupiter have to do with any of this?_ he wondered as he drew his finger along underneath the words on the page, telling about Jupiter's detrimental status in the Virgo constellation.  _One of those is the symbol for Jupiter. What's the other?_ he asked himself as he stared back and forth from the book to the page to match it up.

It clicked as soon as he turned the page. There, staring out at him, was the symbol for Saturn.  _Why hadn't I seen this before?_  
  
"By heavens!" Cooper exclaimed as he jumped from his seat, grabbing the attention of Sheriff Truman and Andy, back at the board. Cooper raced around the table, book in hand. "Andy, take a look at this: what you mistook for the 4H club—the '4' and the 'H'?—are actually astrological symbols."

"You mean like planets?" Andy asked.

"Why yes, Andy," Cooper's voice was coated in encouragement. "They stand for Jupiter and Saturn." He turned to the board again. "Some of the others represent planets as well, but this particular part of the puzzle pertains to a precise planetary position: Jupiter and Saturn in conjunction."

Truman stood up from the table. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, historically Harry, when Jupiter and Saturn are conjunct there are enormous shifts in power and fortune, Jupiter being expansive in its influence, Saturn contractive. Conjunction suggests a state of…intensification, concentration." He turned back to the board. "What this indicates to me is the potential for explosive change, good and bad."

"So when's the next conjunction?" Truman asked.

Cooper hurried back to his book. "Well, now let's see…according to the Ephemeris…" He ran his hand up and down page after page, deciphering the star charts as best he could as he went. "The next conjunction is due January to June."

He looked Truman straight in the eye. "My god, Harry. The door to the lodge. That's when it's open. That's what the puzzle is telling us. It's telling us when it's going to be open."

Behind him, Major Briggs coughed. "Protect the queen!" he rasped.

Cooper barrelled on. "If it's telling us  _when_ , it must also tell us  _where_."

"Fear...and love...open...the doors!" Major Briggs continued to yell.

Both Truman and Cooper turned to face the major. "What's he saying?" Cooper asked.

Truman knit his eyebrows together. "He said fear and love open the doors."

Cooper felt as though he'd been hit by lightning. "Two doors. Two lodges. Fear opens one—the black. Love, the other."

"What's that mean?" Truman asked.

Cooper gave a shrug. "I don't know exactly. It just came to me."

"How does the queen…?" Major Briggs continued.

Cooper snapped his fingers. "Of course. The queen."

"Of Romania?" Truman asked.

"No, the chess game's final piece," Cooper said, focusing less on his frustration than on the circuitous path the master plan seemed to be taking. "Harry, follow my logic: if Windom Earle takes the Queen—"

Truman objected. "The game's not over till he takes the  _King_."

"It depends," Cooper said. "Maybe he takes her to the doorway when it opens."

Andy called Cooper from the blackboard, but steamrolled by his train of thought, Cooper continued down the path.

"The queen...the queen...the crown, the queen. Harry, the queen—"

"Agent Cooper?"

"Andy, please!" Cooper could barely contain his annoyance until it hit him, with such force it nearly knocked him over: "Harry: Miss Twin Peaks."

Realization dawned on Harry as the words sank in. "Holy smokes, that's it!"

With barely another word, the men left the room, with Andy in hot pursuit until he knocked over the bonsai tree. Harry raced over and scooped up what was left of the gift from Josie. Cooper watched from the doorway as Andy hung back, sheepish.

"Coop," Harry said. "This plant's been bugged…"

Disbelieving, Cooper bent over to examine what Harry had found planted at the base of the bonsai. Fear clouded his heart. "This bonsai isn't from Josie, Harry. This bonsai's from Windom Earle."

Harry seemed to deflate at his side; Cooper had to admit he knew the feeling all too well.

"He's way ahead of us," Cooper continued. "And we've been working for him from the beginning. What time does that contest start?"

"Any minute."

"Let's go."

Cooper's mind raced. He had forgotten entirely about the pageant, about his promise to Audrey and to Annie to be there. And now there was a very real possibility that danger was lurking in their midst and he wasn't there to prevent it from happening.

As he watched Harry fumble with the keys to the truck, Cooper grabbed his own from his pocket and hurricaned out the front door, leaving the sheriff and his deputies standing behind in his furious wake.

No one was going to get him there faster than he could.


	20. Miss Twin Peaks

* * *

 

Cooper and Sheriff Truman stood on opposite sides of the room, their eyes trained on the spectators, awaiting the arrival of their requested backup. Cooper, especially, watched the crowd. He looked for familiar movements, gestures. A flick of the eyes. A swipe of a hand across a tabletop. Things his FBI-trained eyes had been groomed to look for, and things which his intimate knowledge of Windom Earle left him perfectly capable of doing. Things he'd forgotten to look for, things his clouded mind hadn't let him see.

He wasn't going to let that happen again. Where _are you, Windom?_ he thought to himself.  _You're close. I know you're close. Where the hell are you?_

They'd missed the talent portion of the evening, evidently, for as soon as they walked in they'd caught the last minute of Annie's speech, the one Cooper had helped her with before that afternoon's assignation. Guilt settled into the contoured rugae of his stomach as he watched her speak and recognized the sparkle that came over her when she did. But he still saw her timidity, the way she scanned the crowd with such intensity. He hoped she hadn't noticed his absence. Just in case, he'd hung back in the shadows, where he could see but not be seen.

But when Audrey's name was announced from backstage and she walked out from behind the curtain, his eyes locked in. Dragged from his vantage point to a spot closer to the stage, he was rapt, incapable of stopping the pull she had over him.

She noticed, and she smiled, and he slowly made his way closer as she spoke.

"There's only one way to save a forest, an idea, or anything of value," he heard her say. "And that is by refusing to stand by and watch it die."

He crossed in front of the stage before taking up a spot on her right, hovering over an open barstool; he relaxed against the bar, where they'd shared drinks only a few nights before. It felt like an eternity since he'd first watched her walk the worn wood floors of her father's hotel to sit at his breakfast table. Now, scarcely a month later, she worked her magic over the room at her feet, holding them rapt and focused on her words. She was, Cooper could see now—more clearly than ever—not only in possession of singular beauty but of a rare mind, full of passion and intellect; deserving of more than a backwater rube whose only certainty in life would be the likelihood of his holding court at the Roadhouse on a nightly basis, deserving of more than a glad-handing business associate of her snake-oil salesman of a father.

 _Deserving of more than a simple FBI agent?_ he wondered. Surely she could do better than them all.

He turned to face the stage then, and found Audrey's eyes scan the crowd in an arc that ran from one side to the other as she spoke. "There is a law of nature which is more fundamental to life than the laws of man," she said, "And when something you care about is in danger you must fight to save it…or lose it forever."

She paused, dramatically, and let her eyes scan the crowd once more before stopping at him, noticing him seemingly for the first time. As she locked her eyes on him, staring a hole through space and time that bore into him, her words, which on the surface were about a patch of Pacific Northwest forest, carried a double meaning directly into his heart. He felt the challenge, issued from her lips.

Audrey thanked the crowd and stepped back from the mic as whoops and cheers took over the ballroom before a brief intermission was announced. Cooper hesitated only a moment before making his way to the stairwell that accessed the stage, hoping to do a sweep of the dressing rooms. Instead, he caught Audrey as she made her way down the stairs to the main floor.

Her smile disarmed him. "You came."

Cooper hesitated a moment, caught between his duty to intercept Windom Earle and his sudden desire to whisk Audrey to some faraway place where the evils he knew could never hurt her.

"Did you like my speech?" she asked. "I didn't mean for it to sound so preachy, but Daddy practically told me what to say. Well, at least he told me what he  _wanted_ me to say. I tweaked it a bit here and there—"

"Audrey?"

His tone caught her off-guard. She suddenly she stood up straighter. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Audrey, listen to me. I need your help right now."

Her face lost all trace of levity as she furrowed her brow and lowered her voice. "All right."

"I think Windom Earle is here. I think he's planning something. And I think the winner of the pageant is going to be the target."

Her voice was laced with wonder and fear. "Really?"

"Audrey, has anyone strange been lurking backstage? Someone who ought not to be there?"

She screwed her face up, thinking hard. "My father isn't really supposed to be here. Neither is the mayor, especially since he's a judge, so it makes me think the votes are gonna be rigged." Audrey sighed, disappointed she couldn't offer anything more. "Other than that, I saw Mrs. Lanterman backstage a while back. But she's harmless unless she tries to throw that log at you. That's about it."

Cooper reached out and gripped Audrey's shoulder. "Okay," he said. "Okay. That's good. I'm going to be right where you saw me standing. If you see anything—"

"Shouldn't we stop the pageant?"

He shook his head. "That would arouse his suspicion. As it is, this is the best chance we have of catching him. He's been ahead of us for so long…"

Audrey gulped. "So if I see anything…should we have a signal or something? How will you know?"

Cooper held his grip on her arm. "I'll know."

"Okay. Okay," she whispered, meeting his eyes with intent and strength that nearly knocked him over. "I won't let you down, Agent Cooper."

Filled with the tenderest of emotions, awe and admiration and the deepest affection, he drew her close and kissed her in the corner of her mouth. She stiffened in his grasp, surprised, lifting her hands to flatten them against his chest. But she didn't break away, or push him back. They held it for a second before Cooper pulled away, electrified.

"I'll be right here," he told her.

Hey eyelids fluttered against her cheeks as he drew back. "I know."

And with that he let her go. She disappeared into the blackness of the shadows beside the stage, and he lost sight of her.

His sigh wrenched itself from his sternum as he found a place on the barstool and continued surveying the crowd. The contestants spoke in an excited hush, loud enough to drown out the Mayor who was trying to get everyone's attention to let them know that voting would end shortly. Dozens of girls crowded around in the wings or next to tables on the floor in front of the stage, a sea of evening gowns and pale arms shining in the spotlights.

Annie was nowhere to be found.

Cooper touched a fingertip to his lips before sitting up straighter, collecting himself. But it was no use. With an alacrity that shocked even his finely-tuned consciousness, Cooper realized that the brief and chaste kiss he'd shared with Audrey in the stairwell seconds before was loaded with more meaning than an entire afternoon's diversion with Annie. His earlier conviction—the lack of feeling, of emotion, residing in his kisses with Annie, his detachment from her that afternoon in his bed—suddenly had force and weight. He realized the implications, for his own happiness and for those around him, of the mess he'd created.

Painful as it would be, as soon as the case was over and he was officially relieved of his FBI responsibilities in Twin Peaks, he would have to go back to Philadelphia. And he'd likely go alone. His relationship with Annie—the girl who inspired no depth of feeling in his heart—he knew would be at an end.

And as for Audrey…?

A brief light flicker over the stage and the squeal of the microphone being turned on again seemed to draw everyone's attention for a second; instead of Mayor Milford, Doc Hayward stepped out to centre stage, a card in his hand, and called the contestants back up. The votes had been tallied.

The winner would soon be crowned…


	21. We All Fall Down

* * *

 

Cooper didn't even hear it—not really—when the name was announced. He clapped because everyone else clapped. The tiara was placed on her head, and the girls clamoured around her for hugs and congratulations.

But when Annie's eyes found his, he was gutted. All other concerns fell to his feet; she'd been crowned Queen, and was sitting directly in the crosshairs. This was his job, his duty; it was what he'd been waiting for all night.

Cooper furiously scanned the crowd, and as people stood up to applaud, he panicked, hoping against hope that Truman had a better sightline, that Andy and Hawk and the troopers they'd called in for reinforcements had secured the exits and entrances. The music swelled and he lost sight of the glittering crown atop of Annie's head, just as the lights went out and the room was pitched into complete darkness.

Lights backstage began to flicker, the strobe effect they caused only serving to amplify to sudden alarm felt by everyone in the room. Cooper willed his heart to stop thudding in his ears as the first of the smoke bombs went off. He tried to find Annie through the mess.

She was standing at the edge of the stage, looking for him. He pushed his way through the throng to reach her, his eyes watering from the sting of the smoke and disoriented by the lights. The last thing he saw was Annie, a bouquet of roses in her arms, and the looming figure of Margaret Lanterman—no, not Margaret, an imposter...someone dressed to look like the Log Lady—beside her. The flash of fire that shot up in front of him left him blinded a moment later. He heard a scream. The lights came back on. When his vision returned, Annie was gone.

Harry jogged up to his side.

"Harry, he took Annie."

"What?"

"He got Annie!"

"Bastard!" Harry clapped a hand on Cooper's shoulder. "He won't get half a mile from here. I'll get 'im!"

Cooper rubbed his eyes. Lost, unsure, he nearly collapsed to the floor right then and there. He might have, too, if Andy hadn't run up to him at that moment, continuing the inane conversation he'd been trying to have with him all night.

"What?" Cooper asked.

"I knew I'd seen it someplace before. I know where it's telling us to go. It's not a puzzle at all. It's a map!"

Cooper sucked in a breath, his throat burning on the acrid odor of the smoke and his own singed nose hairs from the flames a moment before. "Are you sure, Andy?"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my whole life."

Cooper somehow didn't find the statement reassuring. Nevertheless, he nodded at the young deputy. "Good work, Andy."

He heard Sheriff Truman barking orders into his two-way radio and without another word, he fumbled for the stairs off the stage, still blinded, disoriented.

He walked headlong into Audrey, knocking her into the wall.

"Agent Cooper!" she cried, pitching her arms around his neck.

Cooper held on for dear life. "Audrey, are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't—I let you down!"

"It's not your fault," Cooper said. "It was mine. I wasn't—"

Audrey placed her hands on either side of his face. "Dale, you'll find her."

He choked on the remnants of the smoke and his breath hitched in his chest. "Audrey, I have to go."

"You can't drive," she said. "Give me your keys."

And he did, giving them up without a fight, and was grateful that she led the way for them both through the crowds and out into the quiet of the parking lot. With a lead foot, she traced a path along darkened highways to the centre of town, to the sheriff's station parking lot, and as he felt his senses coming back to him, he became acutely aware of Audrey's hand on his.

"We're here," she said, her soft voice barely audible over the hum of the idling engine.

He stared out the windscreen, blinking away the light fog that still clouded his vision. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said, looking around briefly. "Agent Cooper, how am I going to get back?"

He shook his head. "Drive back. Take my car," he told her. "I'll use the truck or—"

"Okay."

He sighed, his hand hovering over the door handle. "You know…Audrey, I'm not—and she's not—"

"I know," she said.

"You know?" he asked.  _Of course she knows_ , he told himself against his surprise.  _Because she does. It's as simple as that._

Audrey shrugged. "But you still have to go. Because that's the kind of man you are. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

He had never before felt so understood. "Audrey—"

"I'll be here. Or…I guess, what I mean is—I'll be at home. At the hotel." She sighed and rolled her eyes, clearly wishing she had thought before speaking. She took a deep breath. "Whenever you need me. Just say the word."

Cooper was comforted but not just her words but the cooing sound of her voice, the warmth of her hand. He suddenly felt capable of fixing everything. For her, he knew he could. And she was right: he had to because that's what he did. That was his job. And knowing she was there—in whatever capacity—for the first time in a long time lessened his fears. He didn't know how to thank her.

So he didn't. There would be time for that, once Windom Earle was caught and Annie was returned safely home. For now, he whispered his assent: a soft "Okay, Audrey," as he slid his hand out from under hers. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and promise her that he'd be back, but he opened the door to his car and hurried into the station instead, dodging raindrops in the headlight beams. When he was inside the foyer, Audrey backed out of the lot and circled around and up the road that led to her father's hotel.

Where she'd be, if he needed her.


	22. Epilogue

* * *

 

_The Next Day..._

"Yes, Gordon…it's me, Sheriff Harry Truman. From Twin Peaks…yes, that's right…no the weather's been fine. I said: the weather's been fine! Listen, Gordon, I feel I oughta tell you…something's the matter with Agent Cooper.  _AGENT COOPER_! Yeah, he's a fine agent. That's what—yeah, he's done a bang-up job with this case. Gordon, listen to me for a moment: Agent Cooper went missing for a while. No, not emfishing/em…I don't know, salmon probably…look, he was in the Black Lodge. I saw him disappear through red curtains in the forest… _RED CURTAINS_ …and when he came back, hours later…yes, he had both of his shoes. Why would you ask—? Never mind. He rescued Annie Blackburn. We took them to the hospital. No no, Annie's fine. Yes, she's a pretty girl. Gordon, it's Cooper we have to worry about. He's not doing so well. Mentally.  _MENTALLY_ , Gordon. He told us he'd been in the Lodge with Agent Earle and the cast of characters from his dream. Yes, the one with the dwarf. To hear him describe it, this place sounds like hell on earth.  _HELL ON EARTH_. That's right. He said it felt like days, but he was only gone for…yeah, about that. And he claims that Windom Earle is trapped there now. Gordon, when he was first recovering, something happened. To Cooper.  _COOPER_. He hit his head.  _HIS HEAD_. Point is, I think you should send someone up here. He's acting real strange. Yes—right out of it. Keeps asking us over and over again 'How's Annie?'…"

* * *


End file.
